


Defibrillation

by satincolt



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Depression, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Non-Binary Killua, Non-Binary Kurapika, Non-binary character, Other, Self-Harm, Supersoldier AU, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3573017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satincolt/pseuds/satincolt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>I am a dog.  I want to grasp and rip and kill, bite and shatter.  I was created for this purpose, I am a soldier.  I am a tool in the machinations of the War Council’s grand scheme for victory.  I am the last and most successful of my kind.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Killua is a soldier, genetically engineered for a war that no longer rages and once they realizes this they struggle to come to terms with the fact that their entire reason for existence is gone and they now have to try to adapt to a civilian life… but can they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. War Dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first crack at a longer fic in a loooooong time, so a big shoutout to my wonderful beta [prospitpunk](http://prospitpunk.tumblr.com/)!! This fic will update every Wednesday, so stay tuned.
> 
> **Content Warnings for this Chapter: use of "it" pronouns to describe Killua, self-harm (cutting). If this is upsetting or triggering to you, consider skipping this fic/chapter or clicking "more notes" for a summary of this chapter.**

_I am a dog.  I want to grasp and rip and kill, bite and shatter.  I was created for this purpose, I am a soldier.  I am a tool in the machinations of the War Council’s grand scheme for defeat.  I am the last and most successful of my kind._

Killua jerks awake  to the screech of sirens, flashing red like the frantic pulsing of a heart.  It leaps out of bed, jams its feet into boots, shrugs its uniform on, and pulls its rucksack out of the closet.  As it yanks open the door, all the way down the hall doors are similarly banging open, soldiers pouring out of tiny chambers onto the rattling metal mesh of the catwalk.  Hundreds of stories below, hordes of men and women flood down through the barracks to the tunnels, the noise of thousands upon thousands of footfalls on metal reverberating with the klaxons drilling painfully into Killua’s inner ear.  

The press filters down through lower and lower levels, navigating the spiral of catwalks and dangerously narrow stairs hemmed by steel bulkheads, fissures where the alarms ring higher and tighter and more painfully.  By the time Killua reaches the tunnels, it has taken 23 minutes.  They are moving too slowly.

“Get a move on, double time, idiots!” Killua barks above the noise and the soldiers turn towards it, it is their commanding officer, then break into a run.  The wave at the back crashes into the soldiers in front and pushes the whole group along until the soldiers are running at a panic like a herd of horses being pushed towards a cliff, with Killua at the back like a wolf, head weaving and jaws ready to snap at anybody who lags.

The wave hits a bottleneck as the soldiers start filing onto the planes that will take them to the frontlines.  Commanding officers higher than Killua stand atop the bulkheads there, lions watching a stampede of prey.  As Killua brings up the rear, a commander picks up his radio and Killua’s in turn crackles to life.

“ _Captain Zoldyck, remain behind_ ,” the commander growls through the static and Killua halts, its presence sufficient to push the rest of the soldiers through to the planes.  The sirens are reaching an unbearable level for its ears and it impatiently shrugs its shoulders, pressing its palms into its ears to try to barricade itself from the screeching of the alarms as the bloody haze pulses on and on.  Its eyes track the jagged motion of its commander stepping down from the bulkhead, advancing on the captain, eerily dark in the flickering red light.

“We need you to stand in reserve with the special operations unit,” the commander says, his voice deep enough to undercut the falsetto shrill of the alarms.  Killua nods once, fists tight by its side and jaw tense.  It holds back from flinching as the steel doors at the end of the bottleneck slam shut, cutting it off from the chance to prove its birthright.  The alarms stop suddenly, leaving Killua’s ears ringing in the absence of the painful din, and its eyes ache suddenly as the tunnel goes pitch-black.  The lights clap on one unit at a time, all the way down the tunnel with loud, muffled booms, searing Killua’s retinas and causing it to hiss through gritted teeth.  Its commander gives it a sharp look and it straightens up, blinks through the pain in its head, and salutes.

Angrily, Killua turns on heel to stalk all the way back down the tunnel, the steel-reinforced soles of its boots ringing heavily through the abandoned thoroughfare wide enough to launch a fighter jet down.   _How dare they, how dare they hold me back,_ Killua thinks viciously, growling, fighting to keep its fingers from tensing into dagger-like sharpness.  Darkness crackles at the edges of its vision like grit on an old, tarnished reel-to-reel film and frigid anger rises in its chest like a frozen wave.  Shutting its eyes against the halogen lights, Killua puts its arms behind its head and stretches, breathing deeply through its nose.   _Anger won’t help you right now,_ it tells itself, grabbing the loop at the top of its rucksack and pulling it off over its head, ruffling its cropped white hair with one hand.   _Focus and clarity are required to function at maximum capacity and anger is a damper you do not need,_ it recites mentally, phrases that have been spat at it for years by drill sergeants, scientists, psychologists.

After ascending back to its chamber, Killua returns to the rest position on its bed, waiting for the call to action to crackle over its radio.  As it waits, it runs through troop formations it was designed to command, hand-to-hand strategies, key enemies to eliminate whom nothing else except it is capable of eliminating, procedure in case of capture (self-destruct).  

The adrenaline of such a close call twists like fighting snakes in its gut, and it’s reminded of all who have come before it, the members of its “family,” distilled from assassins and special forces soldiers to engineer the greatest weapon, a war dog in the form of a supersoldier, to finally win this bitter, decades-long war.  

_“Killua, meet Illumi,” the woman said, goggles hiding half her face as she knelt down to Killua’s level and gestured towards the waxen-looking person with the lank black hair standing across the room, fixing Killua with a dead-eyed stare.  It looked more like an embalmed corpse than a living being.  “This is the oldest of your siblings.  Isn’t it stunning?” the woman murmured excitedly into Killua’s ear, her words hissing and hot with pride and something else intangible that Killua didn’t want to consider._

_Illumi blinked those dead, black, sharkish eyes at Killua and advanced slowly, movements slow and stiff and calculated.  When it got within five feet of Killua, the woman straightened suddenly and produced a small black box out of the pocket of her white coat._

_“Stay back, Illumi,” she commanded, holding the box aloft.  It sparked suddenly, making a noise like a heavy zipper being pulled open sharply, and Killua scrunched its nose against the immediate scent of ozone.  Illumi halted and looked blankly at the device._

_“Watch it, Killua.  Illumi is very special … it can change its face to any appearance we need it to.  We hope it will be able to infiltrate enemy lines and assassinate high-ranking officers once it completes its training,” the woman said, her voice oddly muffled with something that sounded like tears.  “Illumi, change your face.”_

_Illumi stared at her for a long second, considering her with the smallest tilt of the head.  She raised the box and it sparked again.  There was a very slight change in the feel of the room that sent goosebumps down Killua’s arms, but the woman didn’t seem to notice._

_The ground lurched and spun as arms wrapped around Killua’s neck and chest, squeezing like the jaws of a tiger shark, the biting-cold prick of pins along Killua’s pulse.  A dark, frigid voice echoed through Killua’s head incomprehensibly and all it could do was gasp, wide-eyed, twitching and whimpering feebly in the life-draining grip of its “older sibling.”  The woman was screaming, lunging towards Killua and Illumi with the sparking box, shouting, and searing pain ripped through Killua’s body, muscles locking rigid and jagged as the electricity coursed through it._

_When it regained consciousness, Illumi was gone and the woman was anxiously checking over Killua.  That was the first and last time Killua saw any of its “siblings,” and the next time it heard about Illumi was when Illumi was retired.  It had performed relatively well, executed several of its high-value targets, but had also eliminated a platoon of friendly soldiers.  The cause of retirement was listed as “impaired moral-ethical judgment caused by underdeveloped emotional facilities that resulted in an unacceptable instance of friendly fire.”_

_After that incident, Killua only knew of its other siblings through studying their files.  Illumi, the oldest, was retired.  Milluki, the second oldest, was also retired.  It had consistently failed to perform at optimal capacity, too fascinated by the hedonistic pleasures of life.  Kalluto was active at the time Killua read its file and appeared by all means to be the perfect product of the program, the answer to all its siblings shortcomings.  Subsequent productions were meant to be recreations of Kalluto.  Three days after Killua learned of Kalluto, though, it learned that Kalluto was killed in action.  The glimpse of the mangled body Killua saw should’ve shocked it to its core.  It felt nothing.  The last of the “siblings” before Killua was Alluka.  Alluka appeared to a perfect recreation of Kalluto until it became apparent that Alluka had mutated in some way and was wildly uncontrollable.  Reason for retirement was listed as “an inability to follow issued commands and a gender-related identity disorder that negatively impacted its performance.”  Reading that had sent a hot wave of anger down Killua’s spine that it could neither explain nor shrug off._

_Then Killua was produced._

_A near-perfect recreation of one of the genetic donors, Silva:  an accomplished assassin and great brute, but violent genius.  Where all else failed, Killua was expected to excel.  It had the perfect balance of inhumanity and efficacy, it was told, to get the job done and win us the war.  It is so proud of its purpose, so ready to win the war and fulfill the role it was genetically engineered into, the role for which it was created—_

It’s startled when its radio does buzz to life, hissing for several pregnant seconds before its commander’s voice fills the small room.

“ _Captain Zoldyck, you are required in the war room.  Report in three minutes._ ”

“Understood, sir,” Killua replies tersely, picking its rucksack up again.  The clock on the spartan bureau across the room tells Killua that five hours have passed.  The offensive must be well underway, the perfect time to drop the special operations unit into the thick of things as backup, or behind the scattered and chaotic enemy lines while defenses are compromised.  A vicious thrill of excitement rips through Killua like a bolt of electricity as it leaps down the narrow stairwells, boots thunderously loud on the grates of the catwalks as it storms towards the war room.

It can taste the electric excitement on its tongue, almost feel the rippling shocks of lightning down its arms, the familiar weight of its rifle in its hands, the press of the scope into its eye socket, the wet crunch of bone breaking under its hands; the horrific, thrilling din and reek of battle.  As it draws nearer to the war room, though, the atmosphere sours.  The air should be almost alive and crackling, palpable with tension and the onion-stink of nervous sweat from generals who have stripped their jackets off, heavy with the sounds of men shouting and rushing, papers scattering and falling, the slide of figurines and symbols across the directing table--

Killua whips around the last corner to the corridor leading to the war room.  It is desolate.  Frantically, it looks around, searching for any signs of bustle, activity.   _Perhaps the offensive has taken a bad turn and they’re all waiting for me to arrive?_ it thinks in a panic.  As it runs down the corridor towards the heavy oaken door at the end of the hall, the greenish formaldehyde-filled tubes housing its retired siblings flash by in its periphery.  There’s Illumi, waxen as ever; Milluki, fat and sleeping; Kalluto, mangled and inhuman; Alluka, small and vulnerable; countless other fetuses, infants, children that never made the cut; and the foundation sires of the program in the form of heavily modified assassins, cyborgs, soldiers, and at the end of the row, Silva.  The great lion of a man with his silver mane floating harsh and stiff around his haggard face, ice-blue eyes open alone on this row of sleeping, close-eyed retirees.  He alone knows his fate.  Silva always gives cause for Killua to pause, feeling speared by his gaze.  Not today.

Killua bursts into the war room and quickly regains its composure, surveying the darkened room.  This is not the war room of a base in the heat of battle.  This is the war room of an inactive base.  Killua’s breath turns icy painful in its chest, winded like from a punch to the gut as it spies the lone figure at the long head of the table.

“Captain Zoldyck,” the general calls, every note of his voice exhausted and … relieved?  Killua advances cautiously, shrugging off its rucksack.

“Yes, sir?” it responds, placing its rucksack on a seat a few down from where the general sits.

“Have a seat, soldier.  You look strung tighter than piano wire,” the general says, looking up at Killua from under his heavy brows for the first time.  His eyes are just as tired and heavy as his voice, but they’re bright with something Killua cannot process.

“General Netero--” Killua starts, but the general raises a hand to silence it.

“Let me talk, whelp.”  Killua bites its tongue, irritation and anxiety jittering through its frame and clenching its fists.  “The offensive at 0230 this morning was successful.  We only had to drop half of our troops.  The enemy’s line was so scattered from our last attack, they were unable to withstand the offensive for long, and we were able to infiltrate their interior base and assassinate crucial members of the War Council.  The offensive should be returning with key prisoners soon,” General Netero says, a smirk curling across his face underneath his thick mustache.  

Killua can’t breathe.  This has to be a dream, a bad dream.  It’s in a state of sandpapery disbelief, eyes wide and staring unseeing at General Netero as it gasps for air.  The general takes no notice of its distress, continuing.

“The vast majority of the troops will be dismissed, the exception being a core of 2,500 enlisted and 60% of the commissioned officers.  Most weapons will be dismantled and scrapped, or interned to the war museum.  Surely you must understand what this means for you?” General Netero turns his gleaming, shadowed eyes on Killua.

“...r-retirement,” Killua murmurs, the empty tube at the end of the hall flashing before its eyes.

“Well,” Netero says, tugging on his beard, “yes and no.  The War Council was in favor of retiring you, seeing as you are now obsolete.  However, I am the general and I have final say in War Council decisions, and I quite like you.  I’m going to give you a chance to live a civilian life.  What do you say, eh, whelp?” Netero leans conspiratorially towards Killua, grinning.

The silence in the room could be cut with a knife.

“Yes, sir,” Killua finds its mouth whispering finally, of its own accord.  Netero reaches across the table and slaps Killua on the shoulder.

“Good dog, good boy!” Netero laughs, pulls a sheaf of papers out of the inside breast pocket of his jacket.  “Your discharge papers.  Honorable, of course.  Full bill of health.  You shouldn’t have a problem.”  The general stands and stretches his arms over his head before putting his cap on and strolling from the room.  He pauses in the doorway, hand on the doorknob, and throws a casual, “have a nice life!” over his shoulder at Killua.

Killua fights against the thick blockage in its throat, doubling over breathlessly to stare blindly at the carpet at its feet.  Its hands tense into sharpened claws of their own accord and the pain jolts something inside it.  A crack echoes through the room and spears of electricity arc off Killua’s form, searing the walls and carving burnt branch patterns into the table.  Its feet carry it from the war room, rucksack limp in one hand, electricity cocooning its body.  The second it touches the metal grate, the air screeches as thousands of volts rip through the internal catwalks of the silo barracks.  The frame of the catwalks contorts violently as Killua’s feet pass over it, but it doesn’t see.  It keeps moving silently, mindlessly.  

Finally, once it reaches its chamber, it starts to see again.  And it sees red.

“ _Why now?!_ ” It bellows, throwing its fist into the wall.  Thunder rolls through the chamber and reverberates down the tower of the barracks in an almighty crack, the concrete split and burnt and fractured, twisted charred sparking rebar poking crooked from the smoking crater around Killua’s clenched hand.  Blood drips slowly off its wrist, forming a small puddle on the floor where it cakes with concrete dust and forms rusty mud.  Killua’s eyes widen at the destruction, but it’s not enough.  Hurriedly, it jams its bleeding, bruised fist into its mouth to muffle the scream building under its collarbones in an inexorable bubble of pain and pressure.

The scream erupts and tears through the room, jagged as a knife, as Killua’s sharp teeth tear into the flesh of its fist like a dog reflexively clenching its jaws on the brittle marrow of a bone.   _The pain isn’t enough, it’s not enough!  Nothing is enough!_  There is no pain Killua can experience that can equalize or rationalize the mental agony that is having your sole purpose stolen from you.

“I was _created for this,_ ” Killua howls raw into the acrid air, “and you _took it from me.  You made me just to break me!_ ” it shrieks, accusing, furious, bewildered, suffering.  It lashes out again, slamming a foot high into the crater it blew in the wall, kicking clear through the wall of the barracks.  The shockwave of pain up its leg is too dull.  Enraged, it rips through its rucksack and whips out its pocketknife, violently jerking it through the air to open the large blade.  Sitting on its bed, Killua holds the knife in a white-knuckle grip in its injured hand, pushing up its left sleeve to bare the soft pale underside of its forearm, striated with blue veins familiar to the prick of a needle.

With concentration that comes only from fury honed into a weapon, Killua presses the blade to its skin, feeling the tension of the surface of the skin as the sharp edge settles into it, then presses just a hair more and _oh_ there it goes, the skin splits like that of an overripe grape under the knife and it presses deeper and deeper just to feel that burning, stinging _hot_ pain.  It lifts the blade and moves a couple inches down its arm, this time slashing hard and fast.  The cut is so clean and shallow, it takes a moment for the blood to well up and then bead along that thin, clean line.  Killua slashes again, another inch down its arm, harder.  The cut is deeper, thicker, a bolder line.  Killua slashes again, then returns to the cut to _press_ the blade, warmed by the heat of its furious blood and blistering-hot crackling skin, into the dermis to kiss the muscle fibers.  Killua slashes again.  Again.  Again, _again, again._  

Heaving a dizzying sigh of relief, Killua sets the knife down with a shaking hand and gently touches at the blood beading at each cut.  The second its finger breaks the surface tension on each swelling bead, the blood torrents down its forearm and drips off its elbow, _pat-patting_ onto the dusty bedspread, the ruined BDU pants.  Killua breathes thinly through its nose, then deeper, always deeper, a sense of calculated calm control descending over it.  The cuts _burn,_ burn unlike the feeling of its electricity (just a tingle, nothing like the cracking, ripping, paralyzing the first time it ever felt the bite of voltage), the burn is so _novel._  Its breath shudders with relief, almost elation, as it smears the blood experimentally across the white, white skin of its arm.  Some of the shallower cuts are clotting already, the startling scarlet of the blood dulling to something caked and earthen.  

Distantly, Killua realizes it should take care of these cuts.  Not right now, though.  They’re not bad at all.  Like a child fingerpainting, Killua dabbles with its own blood, sticking its fingers together just to feel the tackiness of the drying gore, picking at the clots to feel the sting of fresh blood welling to the surface.  Eventually, Killua’s feet carry it to the bathroom, its hands seek out a washcloth, and its body begins to clean and fix itself.  The cuts are cleaned off and the blood washed off its arms and knuckles before Killua realizes what’s happening.  The cuts are smeared with antiseptic and wrapped under firm bandages, the bruised bones in its right hand packed under a cold wrap, before it is actually capable of consciously acting.  

The discharge papers are a good place to start.

Killua reads through them carefully, but there is nothing unexpected hidden in the bureaucrat-speak.  Then, Killua packs all its meager possessions (three uniforms, two towels, toothpaste, toothbrush, bar soap, dog tags, first-aid kit, foxhole shovel, rifle, sidearms, radio, and alarm clock) into its rucksack just as it was taught to do, perfectly standard issue, and it makes its way down the clanging catwalk of the ghostly-barren barracks.

 

\- - - - -

 

The bus off the compound is quite silent.  There are a handful of soldiers, soberly holding their rucksacks between their knees, staring out the opposite windows, carefully avoiding meeting the eyes of each other.  Killua leans its head back against the window, the rumble of the bus’s engine rattling its brain around uncomfortably.  The bus makes four stops before returning to base, two stops in two cities.  Killua resolved to get off at the first stop; there’s no real advantage to any one stop over the others, so why not leave as quickly as possible?  

It takes nearly seven hours just to reach the western edge of Yorknew City, and Killua thinks it’s about to rip its hair out if it has to stay on the bus any longer.  The driver has been making continuous, feeble attempts to mask the oppressive silence between the soldiers by turning on the radio at random intervals, pointing out scenery, and telling tired jokes.  When the bus finally grinds to a halt and the doors hiss open, Killua bolts from the bus without a backwards look at any of its former comrades.  It barely hears the driver call a pathetic goodbye before the noise and sight and smell of Yorknew City crashes over it like a breaking wave.

The city isn’t really all that different from the base, Killua observes, there’s the same frantic atmosphere of people going places quickly, but unlike the base the city’s crowds encompass such diversity in dress, language,  build.  And _manners._  People shove into Killua to get past it, hardly sparing it a glance, but if they do catch sight of its rucksack and cropped hair, they give it a cursory salute and tilt of the head, a clipped sort of “thank you for your service” that quickly grows irritating.  Killua weaves through the throngs of people, aimlessly trotting about the city to get its bearings as it strategizes.  After all, that’s what it was created to do.  Strategize.  

Quickly, though, Killua forges deeper into the shady section of the city almost without realizing.  As it looks up at the darkened buildings looming above it, cast in tinges of bluish red by the setting sun, the hair down its neck and arms raises.  Somebody is following it.  Killua whips around to see a lone pedestrian crossing the street to avoid it, hat pulled down over their eyes and hands stuffed deep into pockets.   _Not a threat…?_ Killua wonders, keeping its eyes trained on it like a hound pointing to quarry, until the pedestrian disappears around a corner a block down the street.  

More cautiously now, Killua makes its way down the street, ears pricked for anything out of the ordinary.  It makes it another three blocks before it gets the eerie feeling it’s being followed again.  When it turns, though, there is nobody else on the street.  Alarms begin to go off in its head.  Whoever is stalking it now knows what they’re doing.   _Evasive maneuvers,_ a voice in its head barks.  Killua strolls off a side street as nonchalantly as it can manage, giving no indication it knows it’s being tailed.  With the city rapidly darkening, though, the captain has to shake its tail and find somewhere to base itself for the night.  

The tail is _persistent._  A few times Killua managed to almost shake them, but they came back faster each time.  It can sense them closing in on it, looking for a confrontation.  

When the tail rounds the corner of the building and peers down the alleyway to see nothing, they visibly recoil and look around frantically.  Killua drops down on them from above.  One foot on each shoulder and the weight of it with the height it jumped from is enough to fracture collarbones and crumple the person to the ground.  A quick kick to the jaw is enough to crack the neck and knock them unconscious.  Curiously, Killua nudges the hat off their face with the toe of its right boot.  They’re young, feminine-looking.  

Its attention is drawn away from the tail by a rough, angry shout down the street.   _So it appears the tail had a partner,_ Killua observes drily.  This partner is large, thick, and masculine, built like a brute _—_ _like Silva _—__ and charging headlong towards Killua’s comparatively slight frame.  It sidesteps the clumsy rush and snaps its hand down on the back of the partner’s neck.  The partner stumbles and falls to their knees, pushing themself up off the pavement with meaty paws, rounding on Killua with agonizing slowness.  At this distance they have no room to build up steam.  Killua hops over their head and strikes with one heel to the crown of the head.  They fall just next to their partner.

Picking up its rucksack from behind the dumpster, Killua scans the area.  There’s one more person waiting.  It walks out into the middle of the street and closes its eyes, opening its mouth just a fraction to draw the crisp, faintly smoggy night air over its tongue.  Ears trained to any sound, the captain stands motionless in the center of the street for a good fifteen seconds until the faint sparking energy of a rapid (frightened, exhilarated, enraged?) heartbeat becomes apparent to it.   _There._  It opens its eyes and focuses halfway down the street in the shadowed recesses of the entrance to another building.  Killua advances.

The person doesn’t attempt to flee or charge.  They hold their ground.  That amuses Killua in a tangential sort of way.  Right before it can flashstep around behind this last part of the tail, though, they take a single step towards Killua.

“Wait,” they cry, voice tight with nerves.  Killua pauses.  “You’re a soldier, aren’t you?  We won the war, didn’t we?”

Killua squints at this person, face still too shadowed to make out fine details.  They appear to be male, around Killua’s age, early 20s.  Their puffy jacket obscures any information about their fitness or capabilities.

“Yes,” Killua responds.  It hears the other person take a deep breath, as if steeling himself to ask a hard question.

“Do you know Colonel Ging Freecss?” he asks forcefully, stepping fully into the orangey halo of the streetlamp.  Killua analyzes him in a split second.  Sharp features crooked into a determined frown; wide brown eyes and a firm set to his jaw dark with five o’clock shadow; arms bent and slightly raised, ready to defend or attack.  He’s received some training.

“No,” Killua answers coldly.  This boy is neither threat nor object of interest.  He does not provide Killua with any way of obtaining its objective--find a place to base.  It turns, stalking off down the street.

Boots pound down the street behind the captain and it turns, pocketknife drawn.  The blade halts a breath away from the boy’s panicked throat.  

“What do you want?” Killua demands quietly.  The boy swallows and offers a wide, nervous smile.

“Please, my name is Gon Freecss.  I’m looking for my father, Colonel Freecss… I just thought since you’re a soldier you might know him,” Gon says earnestly, holding up his hands.  Killua lowers the knife a fraction of an inch, eyes still boring into Gon’s.  Gon tries another smile again, this time a bit more natural.  Killua’s eyes narrow.  Slowly, it withdraws the small blade and replaces the knife in its pocket.  Something tells it this boy has not a deceptive bone in his body.  Maybe it’s the round cheeks or the naivete in his eyes, or his aura.  Killua can’t quite pin it down.

“Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?” Gon asks quietly after a while.  Killua’s head tilts a fraction, gauging what the intent of the question was.  It seems honest, though.  The captain decides to answer.

“No.”

“Would you like to stay with me?  I have an apartment not too far away,” Gon offers, gesturing grandly with his hands in the general vicinity of east.  “Ging would always say in his letters how hard it was coming back to civilian life after the frontlines.”

Either this boy is the purest soul Killua has ever encountered, or he is a very, _very_ good liar.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Because the content of some chapters might be upsetting or triggering to some people (see Content Warnings at the beginning of each chapter) I'll summarize the events at the bottom so all you have to do is click the "more notes" link to read a more neutral summary of events._
> 
> Captain Killua Zoldyck, a genetically engineered supersoldier raised as a machine, is about to be deployed in the final, critical offensive of the war, but is called back by a commander at the last second. After waiting several agonizing hours and reminiscing about childhood training and traumatizing encounters with "siblings," earlier failed products of the supersoldier program, Killua is called to the war room by General Netero. There, General Netero informs Captain Zoldyck the war has been won by the morning's offensive and the army no longer has any need for Killua. Distraught, Captain Zoldyck returns to the barracks and destroys a section of the wall in a fit of rage. Then, as depression hits, Killua turns to self-harm as the only way to rationalize the pain and despondency of that moment.
> 
> After cleaning up, Killua packs and endures a seven-hour bus ride from the base to the nearest city, Yorknew City. Confronted by the unusual bustle of a civilian city so unlike a base, Killua wanders to try to gain a sense of what the city is actually like, having never been off-base before. Accidentally wandering into the mafia-controlled sections of the city, Killua picks up a tail but manages to quickly "take care of it." Then, a young man Killua's age calls after the captain, asking about a Colonel Ging Freecss, of whom Killua knows nothing. The young man introduces himself as Gon Freecss and takes pity on Killua, offering a place to sleep for the night while adjusting to civilian life.


	2. Collared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killua is "taken in" by Gon Freecss, the almost-too-nice-to-be-true boy who offers up his bed and apartment so that Killua can get accustomed to civilian life. The captain isn't sure what do do with this amount of no-strings-attached kindness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warnings for this Chapter: depression, suicidal ideation, mentions of self-harm, use of “it” pronouns for Killua. If this is upsetting or triggering to you, consider skipping this fic/chapter or clicking "more notes" for a summary of this chapter.**

Gon’s apartment is far bigger than Killua’s chambers in the barracks.   _Is this how all civilians live?_ it wonders, staring around the large, open room that the door opens into.  There’s a hallway at the other side of the room that leads somewhere Killua can't fathom.  The whole apartment is dark, and it watches as Gon rushes around turning lights on, throwing clothes off the couch into the corner, pushing newspapers off the low table in front of the couch, all the while chattering.

“Sorry about the mess, I wasn’t really expecting anybody, but hospitality is important!”  Suddenly Gon pauses, frowning at the far wall with a sweatshirt in his hands.  Then he turns to Killua.  “I don't know your name,” he says suddenly.

 _Took you long enough to realize,_ it thinks sardonically.  

“Captain Killua Zoldyck, 13th Infantry Corps, Special Operations Unit,” Killua recites.  “Honorable discharge,” it adds more quietly, eyes falling away from Gon’s face to a spot on the floor next to the couch.

“Did you ever get to fight?” Gon asks animatedly, chucking the sweatshirt and gesturing for Killua to come sit on the couch.  Stiffly, it sits at attention on the edge of the couch, rucksack between its knees, body slightly turned towards Gon, who looks positively over the moon for some reason.

“No,” Killua answers levelly.  It did plenty of training exercises, but was never shipped out to the frontlines.  “ _Next time you’ll go,_ ” its commanders always promised it.  Obviously that was a lie.   _What purpose did they have for me if they didn’t want me to fight?  Were they scared by the attack that broke Kalluto?  What’s the point of having a weapon if you’re not going to use it… unless it’s just for show?  Maybe they bred me to look like Silva to scare the enemy…?  If so, was I just a hollow threat?_  Killua’s mind suddenly races, hands clenching into fists on its knees.  Gon notices this and leans forward, concern written clearly on every line of his face.  Killua looks sharply over at him and Gon jerks back a centimeter, startled.   _This boy is transparent as glass,_ it notes.

“Are you… alright?” Gon asks slowly.  

“Yes,” Killua says shortly.  It unclenches its fists and smooths its BDU pants.  There’s still blood on the left thigh, it notes.  That’s going to have to be washed.  Hopefully Gon hasn’t noticed, but then again he doesn’t seem to be overly percepti—

“You don’t look alright, there’s blood all over your pants and sleeve,” he points out.

 _God damn you,_ Killua growls internally, turning its sleeve so that the bloodstains—the cuts must have reopened—aren’t visible and placing its arm on its thigh so that the bloodstain there isn’t visible either.

“I’m fine,” Killua says coldly.  Gon’s brows furrow and mouth twists like he’s about to object, but thankfully drops the subject.  The two sit in silence for a moment.  Gon fidgets, looking like he wants to ask more questions but is uncomfortable.  Killua watches him in its peripheral vision, gathering its thoughts.  Eventually, it breaks the silence.

“I appreciate your hospitality, Gon Freecss, and I would like to get to sleep.”

“Oh!” Gon exclaims softly.  “Of course.  You can have my bed; I’ll take the couch,” he jumps up and strides towards the hallway, looking over his shoulder at Killua, “the bathroom is right over here.  Ask me if you need anything!”  It follows Gon into the hallway, which leads to the bedroom and bathroom.  This apartment is at least ten times the size of its chamber at the barracks.  This much space for one person is wasteful, certainly, but Killua can definitely see the appeal.

 

Killua doesn’t shower that night, even though it knows it should.  Instead, it strips off the BDUs and washes up, changing the bandages on its arm.  Leaning on the sink, Killua stares into its reflection’s eyes.  Those cold, blue, inhuman eyes.  Its hair is getting shaggy.  It’s too pretty to be a soldier, it’s been told before.   _Maybe that’s why they always kept me in reserve.  I was never meant to fight.  Just to spark and look pretty._  It clenches its fist, dagger-sharp fingers digging into the meat of its palm as it forces the electricity out of its nerves to crackle along the skin, splitting the air with a high-pitched ripping that makes the lights flicker.  The electricity used to hurt, used to make its muscles lock up, but it’s gotten used to the sensation.  Barely more than a tickle now.

Killua lets the electricity seep back into its arm as it hears Gon approach the bathroom door and knock three times.

“Are you ok…?” Gon asks, hesitating.  He doesn’t know what to call Killua.  The captain gives itself one last look before opening the door.

“Yes,” it says, sliding past Gon into the bedroom and closing the door behind it.  It didn’t miss that slightly dumbstruck look Gon gave it.  Killua supposes it should be nicer to Gon, because he is very graciously allowing Killua to stay in his apartment, his bed, out of the goodness of his heart… or some ulterior motive.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Killua rests its chin on its hands and stares at the far wall, falling into its own thoughts in the small, dark bedroom.  It can hear Gon moving around in the living room, humming to himself, turning on the TV, settling down for the night.   _What would Gon want with me?  He could very well be a mole.  Or he could be trying to get on my good side to gain access to the military to find the colonel he was asking about.  Or he could be a mole trying to find the colonel because that’s his mark and hasn’t gotten the order yet to stop the hunt.  I highly doubt he’s just **that** nice.  Nobody is **that** nice without a reason._  

At 2300, Killua finally wills itself to sleep.

 

At 0600, Killua wakes automatically, almost disappointed to find its alarm isn’t about to go off.  It was a point of pride that it always woke before its alarm.  Blinking around at the strange bedroom it finds itself in, Killua is confused only for a moment before it remembers the events of the previous day and that awful, unfamiliar sense of heavy hollowness roosts in its chest again.  It has no real motivation to move, what’s the point of moving?  If Gon wants to kill it, he’ll come in any moment now.  Killua waits for another ten minutes, but hears no movement from the other room.  That doesn’t mean anything.  Finally, the captain manages to get out of bed and silently remake it, pull on one of its clean sets of BDUs.  It checks to make sure there is a round in the chamber of its sidearm, hand over the butt of the gun in its pocket as it stalks silently from the bedroom into the living room, cap pulled low over its shaggy hair and luminous, inhuman blue eyes.

Gon is fast asleep on the couch, sprawled and drooling and completely vulnerable.  Nobody can fake sleep like that.  He must be in at least stage 3.   _He’s a very bad mole, if he is a mole,_ Killua thinks, lingering for just one moment longer before letting itself out of the apartment.  The only noise it makes is the click of the latch on the door sliding home.

 

Killua is two blocks away from the apartment, carried away by fast strides to make it look like it knows where it’s going when in reality, it’s operating off a half-formed plan and only rudimentary knowledge of how the civilian world works.  It seems the city is just now waking; the captain passes few other people and sees only a handful of buses trundling noisily down the streets, holding only a half-dozen weary commuters each.  It seems there are several competing mafia that are active in Yorknew—Killua’s tail last night is evidence of that.  If it’s able to find hire as a bodyguard or mercenary perhaps civilian life wouldn’t be too much of an adjustment.  It should find the idea of becoming a “hired gun” repulsive, but it can’t find the energy in itself to feel like that.  It can’t find the energy to feel anything.  Besides, fighting and protecting and violence are all Killua knows; it would be pointless to try to adapt to a desk job and go insane with the pedestrian nature of the work.  

Lingering at a bus stop to scan the brief map of the city posted there, Killua’s ears prick at the sound of fast-moving footsteps behind it.  Nobody is moving that fast this morning, unless they’re a danger.  Its muscles tense and push electricity up just below the skin, charged and ready to stun.  It whips around.

Gon freezes as the muzzle of the gun warmed by Killua’s body heat materializes under his chin and there are Killua’s eyes, steely, boring into his.  It takes the captain a second to recognize Gon—its pupils are so dilated, blown for a fight—but in the space of three heartbeats they have constricted again and Gon’s neck is suddenly cold in the absence of the weapon.  The whole incident happened so quickly nobody else on the near-empty street saw it.

“Captain,” Gon pants a little awkwardly, still not quite sure of how to address Killua.  “Why did you leave so early?  I didn’t even have time to make breakfast.”

Killua is taken aback, cocking its head to one side.  “ _Breakfast?_ ” it murmurs incredulously.  The look on Gon’s face is so hopeful Killua forgets to feel hollow for half a second.

“Yeah!  What do you like?  Eggs?  Toast?  Cereal?  I like toast and coffee,” Gon says brightly, recovering his breath.  He turns to head back to his apartment, looking over his shoulder at Killua.  “Come on,” he waves his hand towards Killua.  The captain follows.

Gon chatters the whole way there— _does he ever actually stop?_ —and as soon as he gets into the apartment, he disappears into the kitchen.  Killua stands just inside the door, peering at the small table covered in gloves and keys and papers and knickknacks that it guesses civilians must carry around?  Gon’s head pops around the corner, and he frowns slightly when he sees Killua hasn’t moved and is just standing a little dumbly, one hand on the strap of its rucksack, the other dangling by its side as it examines the key table from afar.

“Feel free to sit, make yourself at home,” Gon says, prompting Killua to drift into the apartment and seat itself at attention on the couch.  It fiddles idly with its dog tags, keeping its ears focused on Gon’s movements in the other room even though its eyes stare blankly at the far wall, striped with morning sun coming through the eastern window.  When Gon bustles into the room with two piping-hot mugs of coffee, Killua is almost startled and it reprimands itself fiercely for getting so distracted.   _That could cost you your life in any situation, idiot,_ it barks at itself.

Gon sits easily at the other end of the couch, blowing on his cup of coffee.  Killua notices now he looks tired.  There are bags under his eyes and his hair is messier than it was last night; his clothes are rumpled.  It appears as if he noticed Killua was gone and immediately ran after the captain.   _Why does he want me around so much?_ Killua wonders.   _It must be to get information about the colonel._  

“I understand if you don’t want to talk,” Gon says after a while, sipping his coffee, “but why did you leave so early?  Do you not want to be here?  Do you have somewhere to go?  If you do that’s fine and I’m sorry for holding you back…” he looks up at Killua over the rim of his mug and his gaze is unintentionally piercing.  Killua looks away, picking up its own mug of coffee, experimentally sipping it.  The brew is far better than what they served in the mess hall on base.   _Civilian life is quite cushy,_ Killua thinks idly, trying to dodge Gon’s questioning as long as it can.

“Yes,” Killua lies finally.  It doesn’t have a plan.  Actually, it does, but the plan is not not one it can act on.  The captain has no money (downside of being property of the army instead of an employee—no salary) and no idea how the civilian or mafia worlds work.  Gon is doing it a much bigger favor than he realizes by taking the captain in like this.  It’s confusing that someone would be so transparently kind to a perfect stranger.   _Everyone_ has a motive, there is always a reason.   _You are nothing but a tool; people are not kind to tools.  People use tools because they are functional and when they are no longer functional, people discard tools._  That mantra that had been drilled into Killua’s head so many times when it was younger floats to the surface of its mind, rippling the waters unpleasantly.  Killua looks away from Gon and takes another drink of its coffee.

“Yes you don’t want to be here?  Yes you have a plan?” Gon pushes.  Killua glances at him— _god, he’s nosy_ —and chews on its response for a second.

“Yes, I have a plan.”

“What is it?” Gon asks again, his gaze laserlike.  Killua makes the mistake of glancing over at the boy and finds itself ensnared by the intensity of it, the warmth and transparency of his amber eyes.  The captain blinks hard and frowns into the black heat of its coffee.

“Why do you care so much?” It counters, a little more rudely than it intended.  Gon doesn’t seem very taken aback.

“I can’t just let you wander around the city on your own.  That’s why there are so many homeless veterans!”

Killua blinks hard several times, breath pausing in its throat for just a half second.   _He’s really doing this out of the goodness of his heart?_  The captain reels a moment, and forgets to listen to the rest of what Gon is saying.   

“You don’t actually have a plan, do you?  You’re just saying that because you don’t want to feel stupid?  It’s ok.  It’s not easy to transition back to civilian life,” Gon tilts his head, voice soft.  Killua blinks at him a few more times, then finally reaches up and removes its cap, setting the hat on the coffee table, brim facing the captain.  It spends a few moments adjusting the cap so that it’s parallel to the edges of the table.   _Transition back?  If only it was transitioning back,_ Killua thinks, and it’s shocked by the frank audacity of its own thoughts.  All it’s ever known is the military life, it was born into the lifestyle, there is no reason it should have ever longed for this.  It shouldn’t be so comfortable with “being a civilian” already.  It should long for return to the military and the structured days, the functionality, the knowledge it has a purpose and people need it.

 _Did they ever really need you?_ something snide and dark in Killua’s head whispers, and the hollowness that had been sitting heavy in its chest shatters like a frag grenade, sending shards of dull pain into its ribs.  The soft, high screech of its sharpened nails on the porcelain of the mug and Gon’s concerned shout pull it back into the real world for a second.  It gives Gon a wild-eyed look and furiously wills its fingers back into civilian bluntness but the damage has already been done; the mug is scratched and chipped, spiderwebbed with cracks, the coffee has leaked onto the captain’s BDUs, Gon has seen its freakish nature.  With wide eyes, the boy leans back a hair, then bolts from the room into the kitchen.

Killua stops a heavy sigh in its throat.  It wants to set the mug down, replace its cap, and take its rucksack far away from here, far away from this disappointment, but it finds it can’t move.  There’s some absurd hope glowing yellow in its gut that says to it, _what if Gon will let you stay even though?_  That hope freezes it like a dog given the command to stay; shivering and straining to obey even though it wants desperately to run away.  

Suddenly, though, Gon’s hands are on Killua’s and he’s replacing its coffee with a new cup and Killua’s mouth is forming the words “I’m sorry” almost soundlessly and Gon is mopping up the spilled drink quietly, reseating himself at the other end of the couch saying “it’s okay,” and Killua doesn’t know what’s happening.  It stares at Gon, wide-eyed, and it knows it’s betraying panic but it can’t stop.

“What did you do when you were in the army?” Gon asks quietly, and Killua is suddenly torn between telling this too-kind-to-exist person with no motives everything and telling him nothing because there is still that instinctive fear, bred deep into its bones, that this person will be just like everyone else and use the captain up the second it shows any weakness in its defenses.

“I-I was a commander,” Killua says shakily, damning itself for the weakness and damning itself for being unable to do anything about it.   _Try harder!_ it snaps.  “Special forces unit.”

“Did you go to the frontlines a lot?” Gon asks, his coffee all but forgotten on his lap, a pretense more than a wakeup at this point.

Killua shakes its head, mouthing “no” silently, then looks away at the wall.  The sunlight has gotten brighter.  Its eyes trace each rectangle of light and it tries to slow its breathing to keep its fingers from tensing again.  Gon’s concern and focus on the captain are nearly painful; it can’t handle this.  

“Permission to be excused,” Killua blurts, standing quickly without permission actually granted.  It flashsteps to the bathroom and locks the door behind it, knowing full well that display must have perturbed Gon.   _You’ve really fucked up now,_ the snide voice whispers again.  Its hands are shaking as it grips the cold porcelain of the sink and it tries to meet its gaze but it can’t and it falls to its knees, numbness and hollowness in its chest killing the pain and its head meets the hard surface of the wall with a crack and it can’t bring itself to care; what does anything matter.  It was never needed to begin with.  It was bred for show like a frou-frou poodle but told all its life it was a Rottweiler, a critical player on the war board.  It was lied to, it never _had_ any purpose.  It’s always been useless.   _It’s always been unnecessary._

 

It knows Gon is knocking frantically on the door, saying something in a high concerned tone but it can’t move either way to get him to stop or to reassure him— _how would you get the energy to do that anyways?_ —but it really doesn’t want Gon seeing it like this; it’s stuck between two equally unattractive choices.  There is nowhere safe it can go; it is cornered everywhere, even inside its own head.   _I need to get out of my head; what use is it anyways?  What use am I anyways?  I’ve been discharged, I have no purpose, would anybody care?  What right do I have to concern that boy like this?  How selfish am I?  Wouldn’t it just be better to be gone?  Get rid of this pain forever?_

Killua looks down at its hands, fingers razor-sharp.  The idea’s so appealing, so easy.  The captain hardly feels any pain anyways.   _Just a few cuts…_

 

\- - - - -

 

The flush of the toilet rings too loudly in Killua’s ears.  It opens the door to find a very concerned Gon on the other side.  “Your coffee must be bad,” Killua says neutrally.  “Sick,” it says offhandedly, and hopes Gon will understand.  Gon frowns and his lips purse, judging the validity of Killua’s excuse, but it appears he accepts the excuse.

“Sorry about that,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head.  Killua shrugs and puts its hands in its pockets, sliding past Gon back into the living room.  Gon follows it and scoops up the coffee mugs, taking them into the kitchen to dump the “bad” coffee.  Killua sidles up to the entrance to the kitchen and silently watches Gon.

It’s apparent the boy wasn’t expecting the captain to be right there when he turned around and he yelps and jumps backwards, taking Killua by surprise as well.  It assumed erroneously Gon knew it was there.  When Gon recovers his breath, the boy asks Killua if he would like to go shopping for some real clothes and Killua is once again caught off guard.  Not so much by the request, but by Gon’s use of “he” pronouns for it.

“What did you say?” Killua asks, cocking its head at Gon.

“Oh,” Gon looks taken aback momentarily, “I said you don’t want people to think ‘oh there he is again, that homeless veteran’ when they see you in your dirty uniform.  I’m sorry for insulting your uniform!”  He rubs the back of his head sheepishly, looking down at the dust bunny in the corner of the kitchen as Killua blinks owlishly at him.

“You said he,” Killua says softly.

“Well, of course,” Gon says, confused, as if it’s obvious the captain would be a he.  Then Gon reconsiders.  “You _are_ a boy, right?”

Killua shrugs.

“...you don’t know what you are?” Gon’s jaw drops quietly and Killua shrugs again.

“They always referred to me as ‘it,’ which has never bothered me,” it confesses.  “I never really understood the difference between male and female.  I still don’t.  It seems very arbitrary.”

Gon stands gaping for a few more seconds, shocked at how much Killua just spoke—that’s the most it’s said in two days—and at the captain’s confession.

“You can’t just be ‘it’ for the rest of your life!” Gon cries, frowning.  “You’re a person!  You’re a he, I think…” the boy flushes suddenly and asks as an aside, “do you have a … you know… or a … the other thing?”

Killua quirks an eyebrow.  “More information required,” it deadpans.

“A-a … _penis_?” Gon whispers, looking violently embarrassed.

“I don’t think so,” Killua answers perfectly normally.  Gon purses his lips, frowning deeply, and moves to sit up on the counter so he can stare intensely at Killua with his chin in his hands.

“How do you just _not know?_ ” Gon murmurs, more to himself.  

“Frankly I am more confused as to why you are more embarrassed about a question of basic anatomy,” Killua offers, its own forwardness surprising it, “I wouldn’t care in the slightest if you wanted to make your own assessment of my anatomy.”

That takes Gon a second.  He recoils violently.  “I—no, that’s fine!  I’ll believe you whatever you tell me!”

Killua shrugs again, running a hand through its hair.  It shifts its weight to lean against the doorframe and relieve the pressure on its feet from standing for a while.  Gon is still frowning at it.

“That business aside,” Gon says, “you still need new clothes.  And new pronouns.”  Killua inclines its head slightly to show it accepts the suggestion.

 

\- - - - -

 

“This is the place where I get my clothes,” Gon explains as he leads Killua into a store.  The first thing it notices is that the lights in this place are _searing_ and there are infrared beams everywhere across the entrance to the store.  Killua hisses and shields its eyes, blinking as its pupils contract painfully.  It peers around the thin veneer of blue from the UV rays in the lighting to see Gon giving it a worried look.

“Are you ok?” he asks.

“The lights are bright,” Killua grunts, but continues walking forwards into the store, squinting up the signs pointing towards the “Men’s Shirts” and “Men’s Pants” sections.  It frowns and looks over to its left, considering the “Women’s Shirts” and “Women’s Pants” signs.  Gon waits patiently by its left flank, not pushing it in either direction.  Finally, the captain takes a few steps towards “Men’s Shirts.”  It looks more like a man, right?  It doesn’t have a chest like most women, it doesn’t think...  Once Gon realizes Killua has made a decision, he follows it and gleefully leads it around the section, pointing out shirts that would look good, sizes that would probably fit it, before sending it off to the dressing rooms with half a dozen button-down shirts and T-shirts.

Gon stands outside Killua’s changing room checking his phone, texting a friend of his to let them know about the new situation.

 

8:24 am

GF:  im hosting a veteran right now named Captain Killua Zoldyck

KK:  Very interesting.  Is this part of a program for returning soldiers?

GF:  no i found Killua when i was walking home thru a bad section in town… there was a bit of trouble with a mafia patrol but Killua took them all out so easily so i thought Killua might know something about Ging

KK:  So do they?

GF:  Killua keeps saying Killua doesn’t

KK:  ...I feel as if there’s something you’re not telling me.  Is there?

GF:  …

GF:  Killua told me in the army they used “it” to refer to Killua and Killua doesnt know if Killua is a boy or girl… i don’t think Killua is a normal person

KK:  That is very startling.

GF:  i think i need your help

KK:  Would you like me to come meet Killua?

GF:  yes!!  were shopping right now Killua only has a couple of uniforms to wear and i just remembered Killua is gonna need a phone too

KK:  That’s a good idea.  

KK:  If you don’t mind me being perhaps a bit insensitive, is Killua going to pay you back for any of this?

 

8:26 am

GF:  ...i dont know…

GF:  i dont think Killua got paid for being in the army the way Killua was talking about the service Killua was treated like a dog rather than a person

GF:  i really want to know more about what happened to Killua but im scared to ask because when i started asking last night Killua …

GF:  Killua had a breakdown sorta

GF:  Killua’s nails got really sharp and Killua didnt look ok at all and ran to the bathroom really fast and there was blood all over Killuas arm even though Killua kept saying Killua was ok and i think i saw Killua sparking at some point

 

8:30 am

KK:  ...do you think Killua would mind awfully if I brought Leorio?

GF:  i think thats ok

KK:  Leorio and I can come over Friday after work.  Will Killua still be at your apartment by then?

GF:  ill try to keep Killua around until then

KK:  Excellent.  See you Friday.

GF:  bye!!

 

Just as Gon is finishing his conversation, Killua emerges from the dressing room wearing one of the blue plaid flannels Gon picked out.  Gon’s mouth twists as he assesses how Killua is wearing the shirt, then he pushes it back into the dressing room.

“You’re wearing it all wrong,” Gon says and the captain looks genuinely surprised.  Busily, Gon rolls up Killua’s sleeves to its elbows, ignoring the shocked look it gives him at the sudden, confident move into its personal space and also pointedly ignoring the bandages wrapped around Killua’s left forearm.  Then, pushing down a small notion of embarrassment, Gon reaches up and unbuttons the top three buttons of the shirt, pulling the collar open a little.

“You’re not even wearing a T-shirt!” Gon cries, embarrassment entirely pushed away by amusement and slight exasperation.  Killua has the fashion sense of a child!  The look of utter befuddlement the captain shoots him is almost precious.

“Here, look,” Gon tugs open the collar of his own flannel to show Killua the T-shirt he’s wearing underneath.  “You wear a T-shirt under button-downs,” he explains patiently.  “Take that off, put a T-shirt on underneath.”

Gon turns his back to give Killua some privacy as it wriggles out of the flannel, but Gon catches sight of the captain in the mirror.  There are two thick, ropey u-shaped scars that cut from the center of its sternum under its pectorals up to just under its arms.  Gon frowns at the strange scars, but bites his tongue to keep from commenting.  It’s rude.  However, he also notices the captain’s pale-as-snow body is marked with hundreds, maybe even thousands, of shining near-invisible scars.  His frown deepens as he sees half a dozen livid, ragged gashes on the captain’s flank.  Then Killua tugs the T-shirt over its head and its disfigurements are hidden from view.  

“Is this acceptable?” Killua asks flatly, and Gon turns to see it has put the flannel back over the long-sleeved tee, but failed to roll the tee’s sleeves up as well.

“Close,” Gon smiles and gingerly pushes up the sleeves of the tee.  “That looks good on you.”

“Thank you,” it says somewhat stiffly.  Gon sucks on his teeth a second, looking over at all the other shirts.

“These are all the same size, just different colors.  Do you like all these?”

Killua looks over its shoulder, its eyes wide and unguarded like a kitten for a half second before it realizes Gon’s staring at its face.  Then that impassive mask slides back into place in the blink of an eye.

“Affirmative,” Killua says.  Gon gives it a lopsided sort of grin.  That was progress, at least.

 

When Killua and Gon finally leave the clothing store with a meager new wardrobe for the captain, it’s comprised mostly of austere and bland men’s clothing, as the colors and cuts appealed to Killua’s very conservative, military sense of dress better than the slimmer and flashier clothes in the women’s section, though Gon had dutifully ignored the pale blue house dress in the basket.  If that’s what Killua wanted, Gon had no problem with it.

Next, Gon has them take the bus across town to the phone store to get a phone for Killua.

“Why exactly do I need a phone?” the captain is asking Gon as it stares straight ahead, swaying slightly with the motion of the bus as it grips the strap overhead.

“Well, I don’t know if you had something like that in the army—”

“We have radios,” Killua interrupts, giving Gon a quick glance.

“Ok, so you have radios.  In the civilian world we use cell phones instead of radios.  People need to be able to get a hold of you if you want to get a job … or have friends,” Gon says.  Killua’s eyes narrow very slightly, but it raises no further questions or objections.

 

The lights in the phone store don’t bother Killua’s eyes as much as the lights in the clothing store, but the infrared beams at the front are far brighter, and there’s about ten times more and they’re _everywhere_ , streaking violet-red and glaringly bright across its vision, drilling into its retinas.  The ache deep behind its eyes that started in the clothing store intensifies with every minute it spends in the store, souring its mood.  Gon, however, seems unaffected.  

As the captain glares at different sleek black-glassed “smart phones,” it has to wonder if civilians are just more immune to UV and infrared light, or the lights at the base were less harsh than civilian lights, or both.  Perhaps Gon’s just particularly used to seeing these awful beams and blue tints everywhere and that’s why it doesn’t affect him.

After roaming around the entire perimeter of the store with Gon not far behind it, Killua reaches out and touches a phone.  The screen brightens suddenly and pain stabs through the captain’s eyes as its pupils contract suddenly and it rubs the heels of its hands into its eye sockets, gritting its teeth.  It moves away from the sudden hand on its left shoulder, even though it knows Gon means well it can only tolerate being touched so much and that strangely intimate moment in the clothing store was pushing the limit.

“Are you—?” Gon murmurs.  Killua jerks its head, dropping its hands.

“Fine.  I trust your judgement.  You know more about phones than I do.  Pick out a good one for me,” Killua commands, slipping back into its clipped captain’s tones.  It can tell Gon is taken aback by the abrupt tone of voice but it can’t bring itself to care; it just wants to sit down and put a cold cloth over its eyes for a while.

“I’m going to wait outside,” Killua says, loping from the store.  

Killua flops down on a bench outside, shutting its eyes against the weak afternoon spring sun.  Sunlight has never irritated its eyes all that much, despite being both infrared and UV.  It’s the unreasonably concentrated beams civilians seem to see fit to use all over the place indoors that Killua is now finding bother its eyes.  Leaning back, Killua sighs deeply and throws an arm over its eyes.

 _Gon’s awfully friendly,_ Killua thinks, recalling how uncomfortably close Gon had gotten in that changing room.  While Killua has no problem with people seeing it in states of undress or touching it ( _that’s a lie and you know it_ ), that degree of …. _intimacy_ …. bothered it.  It doesn't know why, but having Gon that close with such gentle touches ( _not hurting, no needles_ ) and his oddly soft smell of artificial cosmetic spice and the earthy tang of body odor … seeing the way his amber eyes had been focused only on rolling up Killua’s sleeves, there was no ulterior motives of looking for veins or discerning weaknesses or judging electrical currents … it had made Killua’s heart rate accelerate and face heat uncomfortably.  It doesn’t know how to label and parse that new sort of feeling—an emotion, it supposes—but it was close to fear?  Excitement?  Almost like the thrill of standing at the open door of a C130 right before jumping, knowing full well it could die if the parachute fails to open but the thrill of plummeting through the air is _breathtaking_.

“Killua!” Gon calls, and Killua lazily opens one eye to look over at the boy.  He’s started calling it by its first name.  Interesting.  He’s more comfortable around it.  “I got you a nice phone.  I’ll show you when we get home,” he beams, thrusting the bag at Killua.

The captain gives Gon a nod and stands, following the boy to the bus stop silently.  Gon is slightly less talkative today than he was yesterday, and Killua can’t help but wonder if there’s something weighing on his mind.

Once they reach Gon’s apartment, Gon finally says what’s been bothering him.

“I talked with one of my friends and they’re coming over Friday and bringing a—a friend with them… who happens to be a doctor,” Gon blurts.  Killua’s face remains impassive.   _This_ is what it’s been waiting for.  The examinations, the questions, the _use_.  The only thing that throws Killua off is that Gon seems _guilty_ about it.

“Hm,” Killua grunts.  

“Please don’t be mad,” Gon almost pleads.  Killua blinks rapidly.   _Gon **actually** feels bad about this._  

“I’m not mad,” Killua mutters.   _It’s nothing I haven’t experienced before._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Because the content of some chapters might be upsetting or triggering to some people (see **Content Warnings** at the beginning of each chapter) I'll summarize the events at the bottom so all you have to do is click the "more notes" link to read a more neutral summary of events. _
> 
>  
> 
> After Gon brings Killua back to his apartment, the two talk briefly before Gon offers Killua his bed for the night. Killua ruminates on why anybody would be so nice to offer up their home to a complete stranger and comes to the conclusion that Gon must want something from the captain--information, services, protection, or all of the above. Early the next morning, Killua leaves silently but quickly Gon chases the captain down, having noticed the absence when he woke. Gon brings Killua back to the apartment and prepares some coffee and tries to engage Killua in coversation again, but the topics he bring up trigger painful emotions in Killua and it's all the captain can do to get to the bathroom and lock the door before Killua has a breakdown.
> 
> After Killua covers up the breakdown, Gon questions the captain about gender, to which Killua responds "I don't know," and Gon is dumbfounded someone can genuinely not know if they're a boy or girl. Regardless, Gon takes Killua shopping so the captain will have something other than dirty uniforms to wear. While they're out, Gon texts Kurapika and asks for advice on dealing with Killua because Gon--who is more perceptive than Killua gives him credit for--has noticed the captain doesn't seem like a "normal person" and might be highly damaged under the impassive surface. Kurapika offers to come over and talk with Killua and bring Leorio with them, to which Gon enthusiastically agrees.
> 
> Gon helps Killua pick out some shirts and, in the changing rooms, he catches sight of some nasty and suspicious scars on Killua's body that reinforce his inkling Killua is very damaged. After finishing at the clothing store, Gon takes Killua to buy a phone so that the captain can get connected and find a job and friends. The infrared lights in the store irritate Killua's eyes, though, so the captain waits outside while Gon buys the phone. Thinking about the rather intimate moment the two had shared in the changing room, Killua doesn't know what to feel but classifies it as terrifying but still exciting, like a parachute jump. 
> 
> On the way home, Gon is unusually quiet until Killua finally asks him what's bothering him, and Gon asks if it's okay if his friend who happens to be a doctor comes over and takes a look at the captain. Killua isn't surprised, really, just amused it took this long for Gon to start using the captain the way Killua was created to be used. Resigned, Killua agrees.


	3. Fixation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fixated anxiously on the pending arrival of Gon's "doctor friend," Killua is sick with worry the whole day though Gon does his best to distract the captain with the highlights of Yorknew City. When Gon's friends finally arrive, though, Killua's meeting with them is less than auspicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been forever since an update on this fic! Life has really gotten in the way lately, so to apologize I'm giving you an extra-long chapter. After this we should return to our regularly scheduled programming of a new chapter each Wednesday. Thanks all for your patience and continued enthusiasm for this fic! It really means so much to me to see each new kudos and comment.
> 
> It’s worth mentioning that this fic takes place in an AU where there are Hunters, but they’re just exceptionally skilled people _without_ Nen (think Black Widow). Killua’s electricity, instead of being transmutation, is made on the same principle as an electric eel.
> 
>  
> 
> **Content Warnings for this Chapter: use of "it" pronouns to describe Killua, depression, self-harm (cutting). If this is upsetting or triggering to you, consider skipping this fic/chapter or clicking "more notes" for a summary of this chapter.**

Thursday night finds Killua sitting on Gon’s couch playing with its phone.  It has one contact, and that’s Gon.  The captain is bothered by how dependent it has become on Gon, and can’t help but fidget uncomfortably the longer it stares at the lone contact in its phone.  It was warned about this.  This is the exact reason it had multiple commanders and handlers and trainers—so that it wouldn’t become dependent on just one person.  That would make it far easier to manipulate and control the captain, and it was an issue with Illumi’s handler, Killua had been told.  

Illumi’s handler, a lieutenant colonel named Chrollo Lucilfer, got power hungry when he realized he had a superweapon—Illumi—at his disposal.  Illumi was completely dependent on Lt. Col. Lucilfer, and Lucilfer was the only one who could control it.  Lucilfer sent Illumi on unauthorized missions to eliminate some of his own enemies, political and military, but the generals caught Lucilfer and dishonorably discharged him, then put in place safeguards to keep handlers from abusing the abilities of their supersoldiers.  Those missions in which Lucilfer had Illumi kill friendly soldiers and commanders, though, gave it a taste for the blood of its comrades and ultimately led to its early retirement.

Killua blinks, skimming its fingers across the surface of the phone and bringing up the internet browser.  Gon had showed it last night the wonders of the internet, and the captain was completely dumbfounded _that_ much information could be so readily available _without clearance._  The internet is one of few bright spots in Killua’s life.  Typing isn’t too difficult, but Killua has figured out that if it lets just the slightest amount of electricity come to the surface of its fingertips, it can control the phone almost with its thoughts.  It’s pretty sure this isn’t normal, as it’s watched Gon struggle for minutes to tap the correct button on the screen while it holds three fingers a millimeter or two above the glass of the device and effortlessly navigates pages and pages of information without moving.

Civilian devices have _far_ less insulation against electromagnetics and outside electrical impulses than military devices, Killua has found, which makes it startlingly easy for it to manipulate them just by flexing the currents in its body.  One of its guilty, childish little pleasures is sending a snap of current at the lights when it enters the room and turning all them on without ever touching the switch.  That never fails to bring a tiny smile to its face, but it’s careful not to let Gon see.  It _knows_ this isn’t normal.  Its handlers did tell the captain it possessed certain abnormal abilities such as its capacity for electrical generation and manipulation, its superhearing.  It learned long ago to tune out the sounds of people’s hearts beating, but when it was juvenile it spent many days in a soundproof room rocking with its hands over its ears, screaming to block out the noises of _thousands_ of wet, _thumping_ hearts _everywhere—_

“Killua?  Earth to Killua,” Gon is waving his hand in front of Killua’s face and it sparks quickly, irritated that it’s lost situational awareness _again._

“Yes?” Killua asks, voice edged.  Gon’s brows draw down.

“Are you alright?  You looked concerned.”

“Fine,” Killua waves a hand at Gon to try to shoo him away.  It gets up off the couch and retreats to Gon’s room, well aware of the crestfallen look on Gon’s face as it departs.  Something unpleasant twists in the hollowness of its chest.

 

Killua stares at the ceiling of the room long after the lights in the sitting in the room click off.  Tomorrow Gon’s doctor friend is going to come over.  Examination, questioning, possibly advanced interrogation techniques.  The captain steels itself and runs over its training in the event of capture, which is essentially what this situation is.  It’s no stranger to doctors and examinations and is desensitized to them to a degree, but that doesn’t mean it likes being stripped down, poked, prodded, stabbed, taken apart like a dissection specimen.   _Vivisections are the worst, after throat swabbing._  Killua cringes, remembering the one time when it was young it got a sore throat and had to have its throat swabbed.  That experience was more unpleasant than when the doctors vivisected a section of its flank to see if its gills would work on land as well as underwater.  When the results were unsatisfactory, they created accessory “gills” that would work on land.  The procedure had hurt, sure, and healing itched awfully, but it was tolerable.  The throat swabbing, on the other hand, was torture.

 

When the sun rises around the cracks in Gon’s blinds, Killua sits upright in bed, apprehension swirling in its stomach.  It’s been trained to resist this, but it’s thankfully never had to use the training—until now.  It dresses mechanically, wearing the button-down as Gon taught it (with the tee underneath), and comes into the the living room to find Gon still deeply asleep on the couch.  Something bright flashes in the darkness of its hollow chest and for a second, Killua’s worry about the day eases.  Then as quickly as it came, the hope is gone and Killua’s mouth twists with anxiety as it heads into the kitchen to brew coffee.  It asked Gon to teach it yesterday and of course the boy enthusiastically agreed, surprised by how quickly Killua picked up the more nuanced aspects like the type of grind and temperature of the water.

As it leans against the counter, chin in hands, and watches the coffee drip into the carafe, the captain lets its mind wander.  Without its military schedule or Gon giving it things to do, Killua finds itself bored frequently.  Most of the time it ends up staring at the wall, watching the shadows change, or thinking about Gon.

Speaking of the boy, he wanders into the kitchen at that moment, yawning and stretching his arms over his head.  Killua looks casually over its shoulder and blinks at Gon by way of greeting.  Gon grumbles something completely unintelligible and leans his forehead against the side of the refrigerator.

“Why d’ya get up so early?” he grumbles, eyes still screwed shut.  He fights off another yawn, unsuccessfully.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Killua murmurs, staring at the rhythmic drip of the coffee into the half-full pot.  

“Hm?” Gon hums, moving to sit on the counter next to the coffeepot.  Killua looks up at him and sees he’s at least opened his eyes.  He looks surprisingly young, even groggy and bedraggled like this.  

“How old are you?” Killua asks.  Gon’s eyes widen and he sits up straighter as if surprised into wakefulness.  

“Why?” he blinks.  Killua shrugs.  “I’m 20.”

Killua frowns and looks back at the coffee.  It’s nearly done.  How could the captain be so wrong about Gon’s age?  It’s nearly five years older than Gon, yet its initial estimate of his age had been so off.

“How old are _you?_ ” Gon retorts, peering intensely at Killua.

“24.  25 next month,” Killua grunts.  The coffee’s done.  It pours itself a cup of coffee, then hesitates and looks at Gon.  Slowly, it holds its cup out to the boy.  Gon blinks and accepts the coffee, gaze piercing.  Killua’s face warms and it looks away, pouring itself another cup of coffee, leaning back against the counter staring out the kitchen door at the living room.  

“You’re pretty old,” Gon says eventually, sipping his coffee.  Killua shrugs.  Silence falls between the two again, Killua mulling over the phrasing of a question.

Finally, it asks, “how did you get this apartment if you’re so young?”  To its surprise, Gon _laughs._

“I took the Hunter exam when I was 12,” he says, eyes distant.  “I passed and became a Lost Hunter and now I work for the Yorknew City Police Department as a detective finding missing persons.  I’ve been working there for five years now, and the pay isn’t bad,” he chuckles.  Killua has to quickly reassess Gon.  Hunters are exceptionally skilled civilians, most of the time on par with Special Operations soldiers.   _This boy is obviously much more than he lets on.  He lets people underestimate him initially then he’s able to overpower them easily later,_ Killua thinks, eyes wide as it stares at the floor off to the right.  Gon _could_ very well be an enemy.

“Anyways,” Gon says lightly, hopping down from the counter.  “I was thinking we could explore the city today.  We’ve been cooped up here for two days!”  With that, he practically bounces from the kitchen, leaving Killua staring after him, half-drunk cup of coffee still in hand.

 

XXX

 

Swaying with the motion of the bus, Gon is saying excitedly,“we’re going to see the historic part of the city first, then I’m going to take you around the shopping district, then the business district because I like all the tall buildings.”  Killua nods, listening but staring out the window at the scenery.  Even though it’s a weekday and about ten in the morning, the city is vibrantly alive and people stream everywhere in myriad colors, sizes, and types.  This is Killua’s fourth foray into the civilian city and the diversity never ceases to amaze it.

Gon exits the bus at the next stop and Killua steps smartly after him, not wanting to get lost anywhere in this rat’s maze of a city.  The buildings in this area are less the soaring glass skyscrapers Killua saw when it first arrived and not so much the mundane, slightly grubby brownstones and apartments like the neighborhood where Gon found it—the buildings in this area are rougher-hewn stone in older architectural styles framed by tall columns and arched windows.  They’re quite different from the barracks the captain grew up in, but they look much more inviting and cultured.  It likes them.

Weaving through the crowd, Gon makes his way towards an old, grand building draped in intellectual-looking banners advertising new exhibits.  Standing on the first shallow step of twenty that lead up to the dark, wide entrance to the building, Gon throws his arms out and smiles brightly down at Killua.

“Welcome to the Yorknew Natural History Museum!  This museum has one of the best exhibits on the ‘magical’ beasts discovered in Yorbia—those really fascinating extinct animals that would be _so cool_ if they still existed.  There’s also a new ancient pottery exhibit, but that one’s boring,” Gon comments, sticking his tongue out in a way Killua finds far too endearing.  He raises his eyebrows at it, dropping his arms to his side.  “Want to go in?”

Killua shrugs one shoulder, tipping its head to the side.  Gon seems to take this as an affirmative and brightly bounds up the rest of the steps in twos while Killua follows a little more moderately.  It walks after Gon into the atrium of the building and its gaze is immediately drawn upwards to the huge domed ceiling of skylights flooding the circular room in bright natural light, spotlighting the massive bronzed skeleton of god only knows what displayed in the center.

“This is an Apatosaurus skeleton,” Gon starts saying like a professional tour guide, walking closer to the skeleton.  The captain finds itself distracted by the intricate mosaic labyrinth on the floor, tracing the lines with its eyes to try to find a way from the outer edge where it’s standing in to the raised dais where the skeleton is displayed.  Quickly, it finds the entrance and begins wending its way around the circle, and it makes it about halfway towards the skeleton before it hears a somewhat familiar sound and looks up from the mosaic, peering through the latticework of brown-black bones to see Gon _laughing_ at it.  Killua’s brows draw down  and Gon moves around the dais, ducking under the long projecting vertebrae of the tail, coming over to the captain.

“You got distracted,” Gon points out mirthfully.  Killua continues to stare at him, brow slightly furrowed.  “It’s just kind of funny.  Half the time you’re this big serious soldier and the other half of the time you’re a kid,” Gon chuckles.  His eyes crinkle, warm and amber like tea, and his smile is so clear, there’s absolutely no deception hidden there by a false baring of the teeth.  The corners of Killua’s mouth twitch upwards in response, involuntarily almost.  Something warm flickers to life in Killua’s chest for a second and it allows the quick smile to cross its face.

“Let’s go see the magical beasts exhibit,” Gon says, reaching out to tug on the sleeve of Killua’s light jacket, still grinning.  “The museum is free on weekdays.”  The captain nods and allows itself to be pulled along by Gon.  

The first room of the magical beasts exhibit— _Legends of Yorbia,_ the banner says—would probably be dim to anyone but Killua.  It sees a hall full of fossils and bones in glass cases in a bluish tint, infrared beams criss-crossing the inside of the glass boxes.  As it draws nearer to the fossilized footprints of one beast in particular, it raises a hand to shield against the awful UV glare coming off of the case.  The glass must be UV resistant, it realizes.  Out of the corner of its eye, Killua notices Gon turn towards it, a microexpression of concern flickering across his features.  Killua drops its hand and forces its irises and pupils to contract.  The glare decreases, but its vision becomes duller, closer to what a normal person would experience.

Gon stands close enough to Killua in front of the display case that it can feel the warmth from his body, smell his earthy scent.  It watches Gon out of the corner of its eye.  Gon looks absolutely fascinated as he tilts his head this way and that to get a good look at the footprints.  His gaze flickers over to Killua for a fraction of a second—anybody less perceptive than the captain would have missed it.  Then he makes his way over to the next case, housing a bird-like skull.  Killua follows.  It notices that as it approaches Gon, his body turns slightly towards the captain.   _He’s very alert to my presence,_ it notes as it looks over the skull with disinterest.

 

The two of them wend their way through the exhibit over the course of an hour.  Killua and Gon both know they’re paying more attention to each other than they are to the actual exhibit, but for different reasons.  Gon is carefully watching Killua to gauge its anxiety level while Killua is watching Gon for something more interesting than petrified bones.  It finds Gon’s attention flattering, sort of, just knowing it is important enough to Gon to warrant so much of his attention.  

“Most of these artifacts were collected at auctions,” Gon explains as he glances across Killua and several cases of fossils, “since Yorknew _is_ the auction city.”  He spares a quick look at the captain and flushes slightly when he sees its completely uninterested expression.  “Just a fun fact,” he adds a little defensively.  Killua hums in affirmation as its gaze roves over the last case in the exhibit.  It should be more interested in being here with Gon, it shouldn’t feel this dull and tired for no reason, and it’s highly aware of that.  It’s also highly aware, despite Gon’s best efforts, of its impending examination and interrogation later today.  Whenever that thought crosses the captain’s mind, it gets a thrill of fear and anticipation like a brief spark in the darkness of its chest; just a second of feeling.  

The two exit the museum, stepping back into the warmth and brightness of the morning sun.  Killua squints against the sudden brightness and contracts its pupils further, barely following as Gon nearly skips down the steps out into the museum plaza, scattering a flock of pigeons giddily.  Such unbridled enthusiasm would _not_ fly in the force, yet Killua finds itself amused and….charmed?

“C’mon, Killua, we’re going to the shopping district next,” Gon calls, turning from watching the pigeons flap away towards the captain.  It descends the steps much more calmly, stuffing its hands in its pockets, sauntering alongside Gon as he excitedly tells the captain about everything you can get at the shopping district.

 

XXX

 

With the sun setting low and pink over Gon's neighborhood at the end of a long day, Killua’s anxiety mounts with every step it takes up towards Gon’s apartment.  It doesn’t know exactly what to expect—will the doctor be right there, ready to vivisect and question?  Will the doctor arrive later under a veneer of civility then probe and poke and prod mercilessly?  To keep Gon from seeing its shaking hands, the captain jams them in its pockets.  The scrape of the key in lock scratches in Killua’s ears at the same frequency as its trembling.

Gon flicks the lights on in the apartment and Killua is suddenly blinded by UV, hissing through its teeth, heart racing.  If it can’t see the doctor immediately, it can’t fight back immediately, they can strap it down immediately.  The captain’s hands tense into claws and it sinks down into a deep balanced stance, blinking furiously and willing its irises and pupils to contract so it can see.

When the captain regains its vision, Gon is standing a few feet away with a concerned look on his face, one hand almost reaching out towards Killua.  As Killua straightens stiffly and pointedly avoids looking at Gon, he drops his hand and moves into the kitchen, tossing his keys and jacket onto a chair.

He can hear Killua moving around in the other room as he pulls out his phone to text Kurapika.  

 

5:43 pm

GF:  when do you think youll be here?

KK:  We’re at the bus stop right now, give us ten minutes.

GF:  ok great

GF:  Killuas really tense right now so id be careful around Killua for a little bit

KK:  Thanks for the tip.

 

“Hey Killua,” Gon calls into the other room a little hesitantly, “do you want any tea or coffee?  Anything to eat?”  Silence answers his question.  Then, slowly, Killua comes into view and stands five-and-a-half feet away, partially hidden behind the doorframe into the living room.

“Why?”

“Why?” Gon echoes, befuddled.  “Why what?”

“Are you trying to drug me?  So that I won’t fight the examiner?” Killua’s voice is low and deadly.  The hair on the back of Gon’s neck raises even as his brows draw down in concern.  He’s honestly a little bit upset that this is the conclusion the captain has come to, but it’s obvious Killua is a very suspicious person and it’s going to take a _lot_ to convince it, if it can be convinced.

“No, not at all,” Gon answers as earnestly as he can.  “We’ve been out all day and lunch was a while ago.  I was hungry so I thought you might be too.”

Killua is silent.  It continues to stare at Gon with blue eyes oddly flat compared to their normal arctic depths.  

“Plus I noticed you’re a little… on edge.  I thought maybe having a drink and a snack would take your mind off of it.”

Killua’s eyes narrow marginally.  That was the evidence it was looking for.

“You _are_ looking for me to be passive.”

“No, not like that!” Gon counters quickly, restraining himself with great difficulty from gesturing broadly with his arms and approaching Killua to make his point better.  The captain is best treated like a skittish cat, the Hunter has found.  “My friends are really nice people and, well, I… I got the idea they didn’t treat you very well in the military, and I’m worried, so I wanted them to come talk to you… to make sure you’re alright…”

There is no change in Killua’s expression.

The two stand there for several uncomfortable moments before Killua breaks eye contact.

“Do you want to … watch me brew the tea or something?” Gon asks uncomfortably.  Killua looks up and slowly moves closer, never blinking, like a cat stalking prey.  Gon backs into the kitchen and slowly begins preparing tea, watching the cold captain carefully in his periphery.  It stands in the far corner like a storm cloud, its presence oppressive in its silent weight.  When the electric kettle whistles, Gon pours two cups of steaming hot water and puts (decaffeinated) tea bags in each, approaching the captain with both outstretched.  

Killua’s flat, laserlike gaze drops from Gon’s face for a minute as it considers the identical cups of tea.  With its eyes averted, Gon can see Killua is terrified, trying to hide it behind a veneer of menace, indifference, and stoicism—probably as it was taught to.  The captain selects a cup of tea and takes it, features softening in the initial half-second of warmth flooding into its palms from the mug.

“We can go sit in the living room,” Gon suggests, taking a half step sideways around Killua towards the doorway.  Its gaze homes in on him again and the boy freezes, but the captain makes no move or sound of protest, so Gon walks out to the living room, silence following him instead of Killua.

He sits on the couch, eyes closing, head tipping back.  Gon sighs heavily.  The clink of a mug on the coffee table sends his eyes flying open.  Killua is sitting in the chair opposite Gon, on the other side of the coffee table, carefully watching the steam rise from the surface of its tea.  Gon lets the silence linger a while longer before clearing his throat quietly.

“I hope you’re not mad at me,” he says as he raises his tea to his lips, eyes staring into the middle-distance near Killua’s right knee.  The captain shrugs, still watching its tea.  Gon’s mouth twists bitterly—not from the tea—but from knowing there’s not one thing he can say to make the situation better.  He can almost always talk or punch his way out of a situation, yet here is one awkwardly quiet problem for which he can do neither.

Eventually, Gon has sipped away most of his tea while Killua continues to stare at its now-cold cup.  What he wouldn’t give to know what the captain’s thinking.  

“Excuse me,” Killua mumbles, standing and disappearing into the bathroom.  Gon sighs again and leans back against the couch, closing his eyes.  

 

Killua shuts the bathroom door as quietly as it can before slumping onto the edge of the bathtub.  Its hands are shaking, mind racing, heart stuttering.  Any moment now it's going to lose control of its own body as a doctor takes over it, examines it, pokes it with needles, invades it.  Fervent with terror, the captain's hands tense into razor-sharp claws and it scrabbles at its sleeves, pushing them up to bare pale soft forearms latticed with healing red lines.  

As the tips of its claws disappear into its skin and slice down, the captain releases its shaky breath, watching the blood bead to the surface.  The coppery hot scent fills its nostrils and instinctively the captain's bloodlust rises like a shark from the depths.  It slashes again and again, switching arms when the skin becomes too torn and too bloodied to cut anymore.  Furiously, the captain sinks its nails so deep through the skin they hit muscle and it pierces its tongue with its teeth suppressing a scream.  Flaying the skin and muscle in one vicious thrash, Killua is left panting and quivering as the rage and fear drains out of it and the pain and endorphins wash over it.  

The captain feels a structure rooting in its mind, compartmentalizing the fear, anxiety, and impotent rage and replacing it with competent stability.  It breathes deeply through its nose, letting rivulets of blood drip off its fingertips onto the floor.  The expanding puddle is crimson, so dark it’s black.  Killua watches it dip into the lines between the tiles and chase them along the floor, branching out in a grid.  

Fists pounding on the door shatter Killua's reverie.  “Killua are you ok?!  I smell blood!” Gon cries through the bathroom door and Killua curses.  It lunges for a towel as Gon tries the door handle, rattling it furiously against the lock.  Throwing the towel onto the pool of blood on the tile, Killua tries to mop it up as best it can, but freezes when it hears unfamiliar voices outside the door.

“Let me,” a man says— _deep voice in the lower register indicates a large male person, probably 6 feet or more, 190-230lbs, high center of gravity and a weakness at the crotch_ —before the door bursts inwards with a spray of wood splinters.  The lock plate on the doorframe goes flying and cracks the tiles in the shower.  

“ _Leorio!_ ” an almost feminine voice exclaims and the captain doesn't have any more time to process the scene.  Training beaten in to an instinctual level kicks in with a whirl of fists, feet, and electricity.  Bodies snap and bend under the captain's claws.  A face rises up, arms raised.  The captain flings blood from its shredded arm in a spattered arc into the eyes.  The face recedes and the captain surges away from the crush noise flash of scrambling strange bodies into the dark hall, racing towards the front door, ajar.

“Oh no you _don't_ ," the man growls and the captain has half a second to brace itself as 220 pounds, airborne, slams into its back, arms wrapping around its waist strong as rebar.  The captain rolls with the momentum and slams its attacker into the floor, ripping itself from his grasp and reeling backwards straight into another grip, an elbow across the throat.

“Stop fighting us,” the feminine voice says in the captain’s right ear and it turns its head to release the pressure on its throat, throwing an elbow into its new assailant’s gut and effortlessly flipping them over its head onto the man.  A hand touches its shoulder and it whirls, grabbing the elbow, pushing down, raising its sharpened left hand, freezing at the last second before the fatal cut to the jugular.  Gon stands quiet and wide-eyed a few millimeters from Killua’s fury and fear.

“Killua,” Gon says softly, voice shaking with exertion and fear, “it’s okay.  It’s me, Gon.  You can let go of me, I promise my friends won’t hurt you.”

Killua stares hard at Gon, eyes narrowing as it catches its breath.  Gon’s eyes flicker to a point over its right shoulder and Killua whirls around, flinging one hand out underneath the chin of the man, its other hand still pointed at Gon’s throat.  The man shoved the small blond feminine-voiced person behind him when Killua moved and they peer hard-eyed out from behind the man’s tall, lanky body.  Killua fixes its gaze on them, listening intently to Gon’s and the man’s respiration and heart rates to judge if they’re going to move.  

“Killua… please listen to me.  Can you let us go?  Leorio and Kurapika won’t try to grab you again.”  Gon’s voice becomes pointed on the last few words and Killua throws a quick glance at him, only to find him glaring intensely at the man and the blond.  The man nods and the blond tips their chin slightly, but doesn’t look away from Killua.  It restrains itself from baring its teeth at the blond.  

"Killua," Gon murmurs and Killua's eyes are drawn to him.  His expression is soft and calm, open, trusting.  The next breath that leaves Killua's chest sweeps away tension like shards of glass and its hands fall.  Gon gives Killua a small, soft smile and to Killua, that's more reassuring than anything he could say.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Because the content of some chapters might be upsetting or triggering to some people (see **Content Warnings** at the beginning of each chapter) I'll summarize the events at the bottom so all you have to do is click the "more notes" link to read a more neutral summary of events._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Killua is beginning to feel at home in Gon's apartment as the first week there draws to a close. The captain spends some time ruminating about Illumi and childhood in the military, pinpointing why knowing only one person in the city makes Killua nervous--it's easier to use the captain that way. That night, Killua braces for the worst the following day, mentally preparing for torturous vivisections at the hands of Gon's "doctor friend."
> 
> To try to distract Killua, Gon decides to spend a day out on the town visiting museums, shops, and scenic districts of Yorknew City. While his attempts are somewhat successful, Killua can't shake the mounting feeling of foreboding as the examination looms closer with each minute. When the two reach the apartment, Killua becomes irrationally paranoid and lashes out at Gon before breaking down and running to the bathroom. Secluded, Killua self-harms severely enough to alert Gon to the smell of blood. While the captain was locked in the bathroom, Leorio and Kurapika arrived to a panicked Gon pounding on the bathroom door. Leorio breaks the door down and startled, Killua fights through the three and tries to bolt for it, only to be brought down by Leorio and Kurapika. 
> 
> The fight ends in a tense stalemate and Gon calls for a cease-fire, defusing the situation enough to get everyone to sit down and talk civilly, but nothing he can do can eliminate the strained, charged air in the apartment.


	4. You Can Touch Me, Don't Break Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Gon defuses the situation, Killua finds they get along quite well with Leorio and Kurapika. They also bare themself to Gon in a way they never thought they would be able to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... this update was a little late too, and for that I apologize, but it's hard to update a fic weekly when you're pulling 13-hour workdays for two straight weeks. _Now_ I can promise the fic will update weekly, because the horse show I've been working at has ended and I will actually have time that's not working or sleeping. This chapter is a little shorter but a lot sweeter, so enjoy!
> 
> **Content Warnings for this Chapter: use of "it" pronouns to describe Killua, mention of self-harm (cutting), mention of slight body horror. If this is upsetting or triggering to you, consider skipping this fic/chapter or clicking "more notes" for a summary of this chapter.**

Situation diffused, Gon takes stock of everyone.  Killua's arms are completely shredded, hands covered in blood, dripping onto the floor.  It still looks wary of Leorio and Kurapika, body tense and ready.  Leorio is breathing heavy and wiping blood off his face, mouth a hard line as he glares critically at Killua.  His eyes convey a doctor's compassion as he observes Killua's injuries.  Kurapika is quiet as usual and is managing somehow to look unruffled despite having just been flipped over Killua's head and thrown about like a ragdoll.

 

“Killua, these are my friends Leorio and Kurapika.  I asked them to come here so they could help you adjust to civilian life,” Gon explains levelly, seating everyone in the living room.  Leorio and Kurapika sit on the couch across from Killua in the armchair and Gon perches on the edge of the coffee table between them.  The situation is still tense enough to cut the air with a knife and Gon feels the pressure heavy on his shoulders.  If this goes wrong, Killua could really snap and Gon doesn't even know where its gun is but it doesn't need a gun if it's hiding knives somewhere on its person.  Gon looks at Kurapika and makes a face that says "go on!"  Kurapika always knows what to say best in a tense situation.

 

They sit forward on the couch and clear their throat, searching for words for a moment.  "My name is Kurapika—they/them/theirs—" Kurapika starts off, watching for signs of confusion at the introduction of pronouns.  Finding none, they continue, "I'm an old friend of Gon's and he asked me to come talk to you because he's concerned about the way you view yourself.  It's unhealthy to think of yourself as not human," they say gently.  Killua doesn't react.  Kurapika looks over at Leorio and gives him a gentle nudge in the side.

"Oh, yeah," Leorio clears his throat too, " I'm Leorio Paladiknight, I'm an ER surgeon at St. Boon's Hospital of Yorknew.  Kurapika and I are both Hunters like Gon.  Pika is a Blacklist Hunter who works for— _oof!_ " Kurapika gives him a significantly less gentle nudge in the side. "Pika's a Blacklist Hunter.  I'm a Medicine Hunter.  Gon told Pika he thought you'd been abused in the military and wanted me to come along to make sure you're healthy."

 

Gon looks over at Killua, expecting it to say something about itself, but instead finds it staring laser-like at Leorio and Kurapika with no intention of speaking.  He quickly looks to Kurapika, begging with his eyes.  The Blacklist Hunter understands and gives a barely-perceptible nod of their chin.  

"Oy Leorio, let's clean up the mess in the bathroom," Gon says loudly, pulling Leorio out of the room by his sleeve.

 

The doctor sputters quietly as Gon drags him into the hallway.  "You saw how Killua looked.  I'm really worried.  I think those cuts are self-inflicted but I haven't ever found a knife anywhere so I don't know how Killua's doing it," Gon says furtively, glancing over Leorio's stooped shoulder at the spatters of blood dripping black down the wall.  Leorio frowns and scratches the back of his neck.

"Self-harm generally stems from an underlying mental condition which I am not qualified to assess," Leorio sighs, "we see a lot of self-harmers and suicide attempts in the ER but apart from treating the physical damage there really isn't anything I can do."

"Don't you know anybody who can help though?" Gon almost pleads.  Leorio sucks on his teeth a moment before responding,

"Pika sees a therapist for PTSD, they could probably recommend something for Killua."  Gon nods, sighing, and looks down the hall at the blood-soaked bathroom.  

"C'mon," he mutters.  

While the two men mop up the blood in the bathroom, Leorio questions Gon on Killua's medical history.

"What have you seen of ... Killua that would indicate injuries?" Leorio asks as he picks shards of wood out of the tub.

"I saw a bit of Killua's torso in a changing room and Killua was covered in thousands of scars," Gon’s brow furrows as he scrubs at the stained grout between floor tiles, the memory coming to the front of his mind troublingly. "There were these big, red gashes on Killua's sides that looked really bad. Oh!  There were two really deep scars on Killua's chest; it looked almost Killua's chest was cut open."

Leorio nods and dumps handfuls of wood splinters into the trashcan.  "Is that all you know of?"

"Sometimes Killua cringes when I turn the lights on even though they're dim.  Killua always squints in stores, but sunlight doesn't bother Killua," Gon explains his observances, dropping his scrub brush as he waves his hands in circles in front of his eyes as if he was the light-sensitive one.  

"Huh," Leorio mutters, throwing out the bloodstained towel Killua had hurriedly thrown down earlier.

 

XXX

 

"So Killua," Kurapika starts slowly, "Gon mentioned you use 'it' pronouns to refer to yourself.  Why do you do so?"

Killua stares silently at Kurapika for an uncomfortably long time before turning its head, never taking its eyes off Kurapika, and spitting blood onto the floor.  "Like I would tell you, _idiot._ "

Kurapika frowns slightly.  This amount of resistance is not what they expected.  Gon had said to be careful around Killua, but that had made Kurapika expect touchiness, not iron-clad surliness.  Quickly, they have to change tactic.

"When I was young, I used to like to pretend I was a fox because they were so pretty and lovely.  I asked everyone in my village to treat me as if I really was a fox.  At first, it was wonderful because my dream was coming true; it was the closest I could get to becoming a fox.  After a while, though, I grew very sad because the way people treated me—as though I was an animal instead of a person—wore on me so much.  

"When I got older I found I didn't like the way people treated me again.  They treated me like a girl and after a while I grew very sad again because of that.  That wasn't who I was, who I am.  I had to search a very long time before I realized I wasn't a girl or a boy or even a fox, but something in between all three.  A pretty, lovely, foxy—" Kurapika chuckles— " _genderless_ person.  Gon and I have a feeling you might be the same way."

Killua's eyes narrow but if Kurapika isn't imagining it, the captain's expression softens.  Something like a muffled internal war flashes across Killua's face rapidly and it sighs, dropping its eyes from Kurapika's face for the first time.

"Spare me the lecture, I already know I'm not male or female.  They made me that way.  They always referred to me as 'it' and I never saw an issue with that." Killua sounds defeated, leaning its elbows on its spread knees, staring at the floor between its feet.

"Do you believe you're human?" Kurapika asks softly, thrilled inside they managed to get through to Killua with their story.  Killua's face twists as it chews on an answer.

"I want to," it confesses so quietly Kurapika almost doesn't hear, "I really want to believe that but I can't."

"Is this because you fought in the war?  Killed?  It's—"

"No, no, that's not it," Killua interrupts. "It's none of that.  It's hard to explain."

"Just try to explain it to me, then.  I can follow," Kurapika says calmly.  Killua's mouth twists again and the tip of its tongue sticks out as it thinks.

"I'm the end result of a decades-long program to breed the perfect soldier," Killua starts carefully, steepling its fingers under its chin, "the program was called the Alphamatic Replacement Initiative.  The idea was they'd develop the perfect supersoldier and then breed multiple copies of it for the perfect army... or at least the perfect spec ops unit.

"I had many 'siblings' as the technicians liked to call them.  They were earlier models of me, all unsuccessful for various reasons.  I was the ultimate, they told me.  Where my siblings had been emotional, immoral, disobedient, mentally ill, or too weak, I was strong and whole."

Kurapika listens in silent horror.  What would the ethical review board say if they knew the military scientists had been breeding humans like dogs in search of the perfect soldier?  They notice Gon and Leorio silently listening in from the hallway and quickly look back at Killua.  The captain continues.

"What they couldn't breed out of me they cut and trained out.  What they couldn't breed into me they added.  With everything they've done to me through the program and my siblings and my lifetime, I'm hardly human anymore."

Silence falls heavily in the room.  Slowly, Gon creeps towards Killua, eyes huge and shining with unshed tears.

"Killua..." he whispers in a quavering voice, "I'm so sorry."  Gon wraps Killua in a bear hug that leaves the captain looking surprised for a moment, then it relaxes into the hug and closes its eyes.

"It's alright," it murmurs softly into Gon's shoulder, wrapping its arms around Gon to return the hug.

"I don't care if you're a fish on the inside, Killua, you deserve to feel like a person, not a dog," Gon says fiercely, tightening his arms around Killua briefly.  A smile breaks across Kurapika's face and they see Leorio smiling and fighting back tears, the big softie.  They beckon him over with a wave of the hand and he sits down beside them, putting an arm around their waist.  

Gon finally pulls away from the captain, perching on the arm of its chair.  The warmth of the moment lingers in the air even as Kurapika prompts, "about your pronouns..."

"Whatever you think is best," Killua concedes with a nod of the head.  Kurapika smiles.

"Since you're genderless as I am, I would suggest they/them/theirs pronouns, but there are others...?"

Killua waves a hand.  "They is fine."

Kurapika glances meaningfully at Leorio.  It would be best to examine Killua while they're calm and compliant.  Leorio nods, once, and reaches a long arm over the back of the couch to grab his briefcase.

"Killua," he says somewhat hesitantly, "if it's ok with you I'd like to look over you quickly.  You don't even have to get out of the chair," he offers quickly as the captain's expression hardens.

Gon leans down and mutters something to Killua.  Their mouth tightens into a thin line but their eyes flicker over to Leorio and they grunt, "fine.  No breaking the skin, though."

"I can do that," Leorio says brightly, moving to sit on the coffee table in front of Killua.  He pops open the clasp on his briefcase and fishes out a small penlight.  "I'm going to test your pupil reflexes, which will give me a good look at your brain's functioning," he explains.  Killua sits still as Leorio clicks the light on and shines it into their right eye; the doctor recoils slightly as both the iris and pupil shrink against the bright light.

"Both your irises and pupils contract?" Leorio shuts the light off and asks Killua.  They nod.

"I have two irises, one larger than the other.  The outer iris is white and looks like sclera. Designed to improve night vision.  I also have a tapetum lucidum," Killua offers, almost surly.

"Anything else?" Leorio asks, almost dumbstruck.

"I see UV and infrared light.  Improves night vision; don't need special goggles to see infra signaling."

Gon whistles low and impressed.  "Is that why you're always squinting?"

"Civilian lights throw a lot of UV and stores use infrared beams for security.  The base's lights were visible spectrum only," Killua nods.

"I see," Leorio murmurs, then chuckles.  "It's a pun.  See?  No?  Tough crowd."  He flicks the light from eye to eye and, satisfied with Killua's ocular reflexes, stows the penlight and takes out a set of headphones.  "Now I'm going to check your hearing range."

 

After going through test after test and examinations of separate areas, Leorio is finally satisfied.  He talks over his conclusions with Killua while cleaning and bandaging their arms.  

"Your vision and hearing are far beyond a normal person's and you're very strong, but not unusually so.  Your pain tolerance is exceptional.  As far as I can tell, you've had a double mastectomy and ... _gills_ surgically added, for lack of a better term.  I don't know how to explain all of the little scars," Leorio explains, dabbing the blood off of Killua's left arm.  "This might sting a little."

"It's fine," Killua mutters, but they still clench their teeth when Leorio cleans out the deep gouges with antiseptic.

"You did so well, Killu," Gon says softly, gently bumping Killua's bicep with a fist.  Killua gives Gon a small, genuine smile as Leorio wraps their arm with gauze and bandages. The doctor fixes up Killua's other arm and packs up his briefcase again, retreating to sit next to Kurapika, who has been quietly watching.  Now, they speak again.

"The three of us are concerned about your self-harming, Killua, and we'd like you to see a therapist so that you can stop."  Killua's expression sours at the mention of a therapist.  "I see a therapist for PTSD.  Her name is Melody; she's very easy to talk to and very good."

"It won't hurt to just go once and see if you like her or not," Gon points out before the captain can object.  Killua looks over at him and frowns slightly, then sighs in concession.

"Alright."

 

Gon orders takeout for the four of them and they sit in the living room with the TV on even though they're not paying attention to the game show.  Leorio, Kurapika, and Gon are regaling Killua with stories from the Hunter Exam.  They press Killua for stories from the military but the captain declines, saying all their stories are too boring.  Eventually, Leorio and Kurapika leave and the apartment falls quiet and empty in their absence.

Gon starts cleaning up, throwing away boxes and plates and napkins.  Killua does their best to help him, handing him various things.  As Killua gives him one last plate, Gon's fingers brush the back of their hand and Killua's eyes snap up to Gon's face.

"You didn't tell Leorio everything, did you?" he murmurs, quiet and intense.  Killua is almost startled.  They shake their head.  Gon hums.

"Do you want to know?" Killua whispers.  Gon's eyes brighten and his expression lifts a fraction as he nods.  "I'm electric," Killua breathes furtively, and thrill shoots through their body with the excitement of sharing this secret.  "Like an eel.  I control the currents in my body."

Gon's eyes go big as tea saucers and his mouth drops open with excitement.  "Show me!"

Grinning, Killua holds up both their hands and flexes the currents in their body.  Blue electricity arcs between their fingertips, the light flickering across Gon's awestruck face.  "Watch this," Killua holds their hands out and lets a small jolt of electricity jump from their palms to the lightswitch, turning the lights off.  Then they turn the lights back on.

"Wow!" Gon cries.  "That's so cool!"  Gon's happiness is infectious, Killua finds, as unprecedented laughter bubbles freely up out of their throat.  Gon laughs along with Killua and they suddenly vow to make Gon laugh as much as possible.  Sending current to their shaggy hair to make it stand on end makes Gon snort and Killua decides that is their new favorite noise, right after Gon's laugh.

 

"You should sleep in your own bed tonight," Killua says.  "You've spent a week on the couch."

"But then where will you sleep?" Gon protests.

"I'll bivouac in the living room," Killua offers and they're not sure if they're joking or not.  "Until we figure out where I'm moving."

"Moving?  You're not moving," Gon says resolutely.  "You're in no condition to move or live on your own.  Until all three of us are satisfied you're okay, you're staying right here with me."

Killua knows Gon means well but still panic at being caged flares up in their gut.  The panic must show on their face because immediately Gon softens and raises his hands, backpedaling.

"That sounds really bad, wait, Killua!  What I meant is that you're going to live here; you're free to go wherever you want and get a job and everything; we just want to make sure we can take care of you if we have to."

Killua sighs through their nose and tilts their head to the side.  "Okay."

"Tomorrow we'll fix this, okay?" Gon suggests and Killua nods.  Their head is swimming with everything that's happened in the past day and their prolonged state of high alert is taking a heavy toll on them.  Gon pats their shoulder fondly and murmurs something they don't quite hear, then he disappears into his bedroom.  

 

Killua curls up on the couch under a light blanket, staring at the padded back of the couch.  The room is completely dark but they can still pick out the texture of the fabric a few inches from their nose.  Almost all their secrets have been found out now, they have no element of surprise, except for their electricity— which Gon knows about.  They have bared themself completely to Gon and they don't quite know how to feel about that.  

They feel alien and naked to have so few secrets.  Killua got used to that feeling with their handlers and the scientists that created them, but that feeling had long ago faded into the background and just become a fact of those relationships, so they had almost forgotten how it felt.  With Gon now, though, the vulnerability is brand new and feels like the raw, fresh skin bared after popping a blister.  Killua can't stop poking that feeling just to see exactly what it's like.  It's not all bad though, they think, it's almost nice having someone who knows everything—someone you can trust and rely on.  Killua realizes slowly that's the most alien feeling—having a friend.

They drift off to sleep in the quiet dark, listening to the muffled sound of Gon's slow heart in the other room.  The last thought that follows Killua down into the warm darkness is that they have a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Because the content of some chapters might be upsetting or triggering to some people (see Content Warnings at the beginning of each chapter) I'll summarize the events at the bottom so all you have to do is click the "more notes" link to read a more neutral summary of events._
> 
> Gon gets everyone to calm down after a very tense stand-off, then tactically pulls Leorio aside so Kurapika can have a heart-to-heart with Killua. The two talk about Killua's sense of self and to persuade Killua to use better pronouns, Kurapika shares a very personal story about how they came to their own pronouns. Touched, Killua agrees using they/them pronouns would be better. 
> 
> While Killua is in a receptive mood, Leorio looks over them to assess their health. He comes to some disturbing conclusions about cruel, unethical experimental procedures that had been performed against Killua's consent in the military. Killua shrugs it off but Gon can tell they are rattled on the inside, so after Kurapika and Leorio leave, Killua shares an exciting secret with Gon they had been trained never to share: their electricity.
> 
> As Killua falls asleep that night, they mull over the brand-new, strange (but kind of nice) feeling of having a friend to trust.


	5. Regression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killua is gripped by PTSD-triggering night terrors that catapult them back into a battle-ready high alert state, on the same day Gon decides to take them to the movies and Killua accidentally learns about love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this would update weekly and I have no excuse, though I can say the next chapter might be late too. I'm heading to Otakon in under a week and I need to finish my Hisoka and Killua cosplays (feel free to hit me up if you're also going to Ota!!). This chapter really didn't want to be written, but the story will become markedly more domestic and fluffy after this, so hopefully it will cooperate.
> 
> **Content Warnings for this Chapter: implied past medical abuse. If this is upsetting or triggering to you, consider skipping this fic/chapter or clicking "more notes" for a summary of this chapter.**

Killua’s eyes snap open to the sound of their heart pounding and the sensation of a heavy weight on their chest.  They can’t breathe and they _know_ something is in the room with them.  Rolling their eyes to try to see what’s on their chest, they can see the tip of a tranquilizer dart sticking out of their right arm.  Panic seizes them like a cold fist around their throat.

Footsteps thump around the couch, the jingle of restraint cuffs, the stinging smell of antiseptic—Killua wants to scream, to leap up, to fight and bite and tear but they’re paralyzed and the doctor’s coming—

Then as quickly as the sensation came, it fades.  Killua props themself up on one hand, running their fingertips over the crook of their right elbow.  No dart.  No pinprick in the skin.  They begin square breathing as they were taught to calm panic, inhaling and exhaling slowly as they look around the dark, quiet apartment.  It’s two-thirty in the morning.

 _Was that a nightmare?_ they wonder, scrubbing their hands over their nose and mouth.  Gon is breathing slowly and deeply in the other room, heart calm and untroubled.  Still, though, Killua’s skin is crawling with unease, hair raised like a frightened cat.  They assess the room—quiet and dark and too open—and bolt to the bathroom.  

Their eyes dart around the room—nothing’s out of place, the grout on the floor is still dark with their old blood—and whip around to face the hallway.  It’s looming and dim, lengthening into an endless chasm with every mind-altering second Killua stares into it.  They back up slowly until their calves hit the cold edge of the tub.  Killua’s breath rattles in their ears, harsh and uneven like the whistle of breath through a sterile mask—

Stumbling backwards into the tub, Killua crouches in the corner by the faucet.  With a sickening feeling, Killua’s stomach drops as adrenaline floods their bloodstream.  Their eyes snap up to the ceiling, looking for cameras.  There’s a dark round shadow on the ceiling by the door that looks eerily like a dome security camera and they fixate on it, letting their situational awareness drop for too long and their eyes are wrenched back to the open doorway by the flash of a white lab coat—

Killua doesn’t know how long they sit there in the tub, thighs aching from the stress, heart running 25 beats per minute above normal rest rate, skin prickling, ears open, eyes dilated fully and pulled wide open and dry and aching sharply.  Their hands pick and scrabble at the bandages on their arms involuntarily, not yet clawed but sharp and ready, and the sound of ripping cotton startles them.  Their claws reflexively clench and Killua almost yelps as their nails plunge sharply into their arms.  Hissing and growling through the pain, Killua pulls their claws out of their flesh one by one.  The brush of the bandages falling from their arms in shreds, ghosting against their legs, has them hyperventilating and the breathing too loud too harsh attracts the attention of the doctors they know where it is now they’re coming for it with tranquilizers and restraints and oh there’s no rest for the wicked, no no, no rest for the wicked weapon…

It’s nearly six in the morning when Killua can finally force their trembling body from the corner of the tub and crawl exhausted back to the couch.  City light filters through the cracks in the blinds and exhaustion weighs heavily on every part of their body, dragging on their mind like a needle scratching a record.  Killua’s eyelids flutter as they sink down onto the couch, trying desperately to stay somewhat alert to their surroundings because every time their eyes close, panic shoots through their amygdala and shocks them awake.  Terror flits back and forth with the erratic movements of their eyes, but eventually the heavy, heavy exhaustion wins out and they drift into disquieted unconsciousness.

 ****  
XXX

 

_“Ki-llu-a... Kiii-llu-aah…”_

Gon's soft croon and slight hand on Killua's shoulder reels them violently to the world of the waking from the treacherous waters of a half-asleep nightmare.  Killua squints their eyes against the light of the sun through the shades, dim as it is, and blinks owlishly several times before their eyes have adjusted properly.  They swallow down the instantaneous urge to _attack_ and go into square breathing again to try to calm their spiked heart rate.  Gon isn’t a threat ( _but what if he is he did bring that doctor here_ ), Gon isn’t a threat, and Killua calms themself to reflect that.

"Good morning," Gon says energetically, albeit quietly.  He's taking their sensitive hearing into account now and Killua _is_ grateful for that, considering how Gon's normal speaking voice is just below a shout for most people.  Killua smacks their lips a couple of times and stretches hugely for show, their long limbs sticking off the ends of the couch.  Gon gives a quiet snort as Killua's face screws up in an exaggerated yawn.  

"How did you sleep?" he asks as Killua sits up and runs a hand through their unruly white hair.   _I can’t let him know about last night, or else he’ll bring the doctor back,_ they realize hurriedly while considering how to reply.

"Sufficiently," they answer.  Gon's slight grin dims just a bit.

"You were twitching and frowning," Gon says to try to coax another answer out of his housemate.  Killua looks away, towards the clock on the far wall, and shrugs one shoulder, fingering the sparse, shredded remnants of the bandages on their left arm.  They don’t notice the analytic look Gon gives to the lack of bandages.

"I can't remember the dream," they answer truthfully.  Gon huffs lightly and gives a nod.

"Do you want any breakfast then?"

"Are we doing anything today?" Killua responds.

"I don't have anything to do.  Did you want to do something?" Gon continues the dialogue of questions.

"Maybe."

"Okay, then breakfast?" Gon asks again.  Killua nods.

The two sit down at the little dining room table Gon has and eat their scrambled eggs quietly, the only sounds in the room that of their forks clinking and mouths chewing.  

"What do civilians do?" Killua asks out of the blue.  Gon puts down his fork and swallows a mouthful of egg.

"What do you mean?  We go to work, we eat with friends, we exercise— everything you did in the military as a soldier."

Killua has half a mind to point out to Gon they were not a soldier, they were a weapon, and thus did not receive the same treatment as the others.  They don't, though.  They have the strangest feeling if they did detail their average schedule and upbringing, it would make Gon go into that oddly quiet and pensive state Killua has learned means he's sad.  Instead, they poke some more.

"What do you do in your downtime, I mean.  We have limited options for that in the military."

 _"Had,"_ Gon corrects in an undertone (which Killua catches, of course, and they have to school their face not to reflect the slight annoyance that comes with the correction).  "I guess we do a lot of things.  Movies, vacations, fairs, sightseeing...  There's a lot.  In Yorknew, a lot of people come to see the auctions."

Killua nods and shovels some more eggs into their mouth while they mull over Gon's answer.  "What's a movie?" they ask finally.

Gon's face registers shock.  "What's a movie?" he echoes.  "Killua, you've never seen a movie before?"

Killua shakes their head.

"We're going to the movies today, then," Gon declares with a final bite of breakfast.

XXX

Kurapika and Leorio meet Gon and Killua at the movie theater.  It's a smaller independent theater away from the touristy, overpriced downtown area.  Some might say it had seen better days if they were polite, or call it run-down, if they were feeling a little mean.  The brick front of the building is dull from years of air pollution and the portico announcing the showings is covered in peeling paint.  Several bulbs are missing or broken from the row of lights along the top of the portico.  The ancient, hand-lettered sign above the heavily shadowed door reads " _The Gavel Theater and Comedy Club_ ".  The whole place reeks of beer and popcorn butter.

"I know it doesn't look very good, Killua, but it's only 50 jenny on Tuesdays and free refills on popcorn," Gon says brightly.  Killua continues to examine their surroundings, wary of anybody who looks out of place, wary of Leorio looming next to them.  Just the presence of the doctor—even though he didn’t do anything to Killua—is enough to set them on alert.  They dip their chin and look up at Leorio out of the top corner of their eyes, out from underneath the beginnings of a shaggy white fringe, and track his eyeline.  Leorio’s looking a little ways off down the street, not focused on anything in particular, and has a low cardiopulmonary rate.  It’s unlikely he’s waiting for an accomplice or expecting an attack.  They look away from him and relax a little into Gon's easy smile even as it's aimed at the homely exterior of the Gavel.

"I'd like to see _Kiss Kiss Fall in Blood_ ," Kurapika pipes up from the back of the group,  All three turn to look down at them, owing to the fact Kurapika, at a humble 5'3", is at least nine inches shorter than Gon, the next smallest at six feet even.

"Isn't that the romance movie?" Leorio asks a little cautiously, scratching the back of his head.

"Romance- _action,_ " Kurapika corrects.  "It's an action movie with a strong romantic subplot and Troll Mila Kunis is in it—" they break off suddenly, a slight blush high on their porcelain cheekbones.  "I heard it got very good reviews, even from people who don't normally enjoy romances," they finish succinctly, smoothing their skirt down a little too aggressively.

"That sounds good," Gon agrees.  Leorio sighs and swings his long arms.  Killua keeps from flinching at the action through sheer willpower and reins in the murderous glare they were about to shoot at him.

"Fiiine."

"Killua?" Gon asks, turning to them.  Killua tilts their head slightly.  "How do you feel about _Kiss Kiss Fall in Blood_?"

"I trust your decision," Killua says.  Gon grins, turning to the other two.

"They've never seen a movie before," he says, elbowing Killua playfully in the side.  Killua’s heart rate leaps and they almost dislocate Gon’s arm as an instinctive defense reflex, but manage to suppress it.  Leorio gapes and Kurapika raises their brows.

"Maybe we should watch something else..." they say.  

"No, this is fine," Killua insists.  "I just really want to see a movie."   _I just really want to get away from this particular situation._

Gon looks at them with wide eyes and raised brows.  Killua's never expressed that much positive emotion or opinion before.  

" _Kiss Kiss Fall in Blood_ it is then," Leorio says, "as decided by our movie virgin here."

Gon snickers as the four enter the Gavel.

The group ends up sitting in the middle of the sparsely populated theater, chatting while they wait for the previews to begin.  Killua sits between Gon on their left and Leorio on their right, with Kurapika sitting on Leorio's right.  They’re on high alert with the doctor sitting so close to them in a dark room with a dozen or so strangers.  Any one of those people could have hostile intentions, be waiting to whip out a gun or a knife, a box of matches and a bottle of alcohol, any one of these people could be Hunters sent by the military to find Killua—the Hunters sitting next to them could be sent by the military.  

Rapidly, Killua’s eyes dart to the nearest exit.  How long will they have to react if someone becomes hostile?  In the event of a shooting?  In the event of a melee weapon?  How many people will they have to get past?  Where is the nearest bunker to this theater?  Who can be trusted—

"Killua,” they nearly leap a foot into the air but stop by digging claws deep into the grimy wood of the armrests.  They begin square breathing while staring wide-eyed at Kurapika, who had leaned forwards around Leorio to address Killua. “This morning I called my therapist Melody and she said she could see you for a consultation on Wednesday.  Does that sound alright?" Killua licks their lips and swallows, muscles tight like rubber bands ready to snap and fling them far away.  Their breath rattles in their chest almost like a small growl.  They lick their lips again.  

_“Overproduction of saliva is a sign the weapon is getting ready to bite, it’s part of the komodo dragon genes... don’t let it bite you because it has some nasty toxins in its saliva…”_

Killua heaves a sigh and swallows hard again, then they look over at Gon.  Is Wednesday alright?  They certainly don't know.  Gon nods, then leans into the conversation.  Killua recoils slightly to maintain their personal space.  They swallow again, trying to force their cortisone levels to drop.

"I have to work Wednesday; I called in sick the past week so I can't really do that anymore," he rubs the back of his head and averts his eyes guiltily.

"I can drive you, Killua.  My employer won't mind if I take an hour or two off in the middle of the day.  If that doesn't work Leorio might be able to take you," Kurapika offers.

Leorio perks up at the mention of his name. "Oh!  Yeah!  I work the night shift on Wednesday, I could take you if Pika can't."

Killua nods along with all the suggestions, a little overwhelmed by this sudden outpouring of support.  They're “saved”, however, by the lights dimming for the previews.

_“You never loved me!  And that’s why I’m doing this!”_

Killua watches with a blank face, idly chewing popcorn, as the teary heroine of the movie mows down her unfaithful spy ex-lover with a machine gun.  Out of the corner of their eye, they can see Leorio’s cheeks shining with sympathetic tears while in the other corner of their eye, they can see Gon leaning forward excitedly in his seat, quietly rooting on the heroine.  They can’t see Kurapika from where they’re sitting.  Killua throws some more popcorn up in the air, leaning back and catching it in their mouth as an excuse to get a look at what Kurapika’s doing.  They’re watching the screen intently with pursed lips, fingers playing idly with the ruby earring dangling from their left ear.  There’s a constant low level of panic and hyperalertness buzzing in the back of the captain’s mind at being in a dark room with strangers, but the close presence of Gon has a somewhat calming effect, enough they can recognize they would be in a full panic without him.  Before they can really pursue _why_ that is, their attention is drawn back to the movie by a particularly retina-searing blast from the screen.

The movie is bright and loud—just enough to irritate Killua’s eyes and ears and give them a slight headache—and the plot isn’t too involved.  They’ve been following it easily and are not impressed by the highly inaccurate dramatization of what war is like.  The assassin that featured briefly in the first thirty minutes was the most incompetent idiot Killua had ever witnessed and had to restrain themself with difficulty from making snide critiques of his sloppy form.  At truly awful points, they couldn’t help it and had to hiss some commentary into Gon’s ear, who nodded with an open mouth, eyes fixed on the huge screen at the front of the auditorium.

Currently, on the screen, the heroine is rushing into the arms of the man she’s been eyeing the whole movie, a do-gooder soldier.  They smash their faces together in the most puzzling way Killua has ever seen and tangle their limbs together and fall to the ground.  The captain finds themself frowning heavily at the screen, confused.  Beside them, Gon looks vaguely uneasy.  When they hear heightened heart rates and the sound of slick smacking on their right, though, they turn sharply.

Leorio and Kurapika are doing the same thing the characters on the screen are.  Killua squints suspiciously at them before leaning over to Gon.

“What are they doing?” Killua whispers, jerking a thumb towards the other two.  Gon looks over and immediately his face becomes shadowed.  He lunges across Killua with startling suddenness, tapping Leorio on the shoulder aggressively.

“Cut it out, you two!  You’re making Killua uncomfortable!” he hisses.  Leorio and Kurapika break apart, looking abashed, and Leorio wipes his mouth.

“Sorry,” Kurapika mumbles.  Gon returns to his seat and Killua exhales, raising an eyebrow at the boy.

“I just wanted to know what they were doing,” they say.  Gon scrunches his face.

“They were making out, which is okay do to at movies normally—especially ones like this—but it’s _not okay when there are other people with you,_ ” he pointedly says, directing the last part at a blushing Leorio who keeps his eyes glued to the screen.

“Why?” Killua asks quietly, lowering their voice as they notice another person in the theater turn to glare at them.  They push down on the urge to bare their teeth and growl at them, sinking instead further down into their seat and breathing squarely.

“I’ll tell you once the movie is over, okay?” Gon says, reaching for the popcorn.  Killua nods and refocuses their attention on the movie, which is wrapping up in a series of fiery slow-motion shots.

As the credits roll, Gon and Leorio begin to clean up their seats, but Kurapika quickly tugs at Leorio’s sleeve.

“There’s an end-credits scene,” they say, almost pleading.  Leorio gazes at Kurapika for a long moment.  Killua picks up a microexpression of lust crossing Kurapika’s face and hears Leorio’s heart rate increase.

“Alright.  You two go ahead,” Leorio addresses Gon and Killua, “I don’t want you to have to be bored through this.”

“It’s alright, we don’t mi—”

“Okay, Leorio, I have to use the bathroom anyways,” Killua interrupts loudly (well, loudly for them) and taps Gon’s elbow to shepherd him along the aisle out of the theater.  Gon looks surprised by Killua’s sudden tact, but truthfully Killua can smell the strange hot smell of lust rolling off the two of them and they don’t want to be around for anything more.  They also can’t wait to get out of the dark, panicky environment of the theater.

It isn’t until the two have reached the small, shabby lobby of the Gavel that Killua lets their fingertips drop from Gon’s elbow almost self-consciously, embarrassed they forgot their touch had lingered so long.

"What was that about, Killua?" Gon asks.  Killua shrugs one shoulder.

"They were going to make out again; I could smell and hear it.  I didn't want to be around for that."

"Wow," Gon says in that quiet way of his.  The two stare aimlessly at the dim, outdated interior of the Gavel for a moment and the woman at the concessions kiosk watches them with disinterest.

"Why is it unacceptable for people to make out in public?" Killua asks, recalling what Gon told them in the movie.  

"Oh…” Gon rubs the back of his neck, looking around as if an explanation will step out from behind a dated cardboard cutout.  “Making out—kissing—it’s really more of a private thing?  What’s the word… personal?  No… inanimate… initiate…” Gon trails off, mouthing words.

“Intimate?” Killua suggests dryly.  Gon snaps his fingers at them.

“Yeah!  Intimate.  Intimate stuff doesn’t belong in public because it’s intimate.  Making out at a movie is okay if there’s nobody else with you, but we were with them so it’s not okay.  It’s just kind of uncomfortable?” Gon finishes, looking the very definition of the word.  Killua nods.

“So making out is a form of kissing, which is an intimate expression… of what?”

Gon gapes and blushes harder.  “Love!  You don’t know that?”

“I was bred, raised, and trained to have no emotional distractions—love being one of them,” Killua says flatly, and their own words sting them hard.  It’s the bitter truth yet they still get a sick sense of satisfaction out of the dull bruise-like feeling deep in them when they remember they’re really not a fully functioning human.  Sometimes they think it would actually be easier for people to understand that if they looked less human, but that was not the function of their design.  Killua’s design was to look human and deceive people.  They like deception, it’s a natural part of them, but around Gon they wish they were just a little less so.  Their eyes flicker over Gon and Killua sighs internally.  They did it again.  Made him quiet and pensive—sad.

Killua is saved from any further pain at being alone with a sad Gon as Leorio and Kurapika walk into the lobby.  They’re close together, brushing arms with each step, and smell musky, sweaty, intense.  Leorio’s face has a lingering tint to it and Kurapika’s hair is slightly ruffled though it’s obvious they’ve smoothed down their clothes.  Killua narrows their eyes slightly at Kurapika.  Their mouth tightens as they catch the look and they avert their eyes.

“Ready to go?” Leorio asks, his voice completely level.

“Yeah!” Gon says, snapping back to normal.

As the group walks over to a restaurant a few blocks away to get lunch after the movie, Killua walks a few steps behind Gon and Leorio, so they can keep an eye on the two.  Kurapika slows up to match Killua’s pace.  Killua glances at them out of the corner of their eye and sets their jaw, shoving their hands into their pockets.

“Are you alright?  You’ve been jumpy today,” Kurapika points out, not unkindly.  Killua tilts their head away from Kurapika, as if they’re trying to avoid the question like a bullet.

“I’m fine,” they answer gruffly.  They can see Kurapika’s mouth twist with the unsatisfactory answer.

“I’m sorry Leorio and I made you uncomfortable in the theater,” Kurapika says.  Killua shakes their head.

“It’s fine.”

The two walk in awkward silence until Gon turns, walking backwards, and engages them in conversation.  Killua manages to skate through the conversation providing monosyllabic answers.

XXX

That night, lying on the couch, Killua stares at the ceiling while mulling over the day.  The movie was nothing special.  Leorio and Kurapika’s interaction today sticks in their mind resolutely.  Gon, through a rather laborious logical chain, had said Leorio and Kurapika love each other.  Love.... Killua understands the concept in a very textbook format— _“love is a deep attraction and affection towards another person in a romantic or sexual way”_ —but cannot wrap their head around it.  Their handlers never reinforced the idea or practiced anything similar to it towards Killua, thus love remained an abstract concept placed high up on a shelf in their mind, evoked only in a semantic sense when overhearing soldiers chattering— _“man, I love when the mess serves mashed potatoes!”_ —and Killua came to amend that definition slightly to mean, when used colloquially, a great like.  

The sense in which Gon used _love_  is almost completely foreign.  How could you _love_ another person?  How could you feel _so intensely attracted_ to another person that you always want to be touching them, staring intensely at them, interacting sexually with them?  The idea makes Killua shiver, skin crawling as if to throw off an invisible net that had just descended on them.  How _constricting_.  How _unnecessary_.  There is nothing Killua loves.  Sure, the captain enjoys certain things, likes them, even, but there is nothing Killua would ever say they _love_.  They can absolutely say, though, there are things they hate.  Doctors.  Throat swabbings.  Torture training.  Gunshot simulations.  The constant feeling of hollow, numb, emptiness in their chest and head.

 _What would it feel like to love, though?_ Killua wonders while idly chewing on their bottom lip, lacing their fingers together behind their head.  Would it be akin to really looking forward to something?  Enjoying breaking up a fight more than usual?  Eagerly anticipating physical agility tests?  Wanting desperately and longingly to fall face-down onto your bunk after a 50-hour shift?  The feeling when you finally do fall onto that awfully wondrous bunk after that wondrously awful shift?

Killua heaves a sigh, clearing out their lungs and their head like sweeping failed battle plans off the war table.  Over in the other room, they hear Gon’s breathing change.  He’s entered REM sleep, they guess.  Sleeplessly, they continue to stare at the monotonous, streetlamp-streaked ceiling.  A car drives past.  Their eyes track the arc of the headlights across the slightly mottled surface of the drywall above them.  They have absolutely no motivation to do anything.  Too numb to move or continue pursuing the overly difficult train of thought that is comprehending love as an emotion.  Too tired to sleep.  They can’t be bothered at all.  

The sound of Gon climbing out of bed and shuffling into the hallway draws some of Killua’s widely scattered, unfocused attention.  

“Killua?” Gon murmurs as he rounds the corner and finds Killua wide awake, sitting upright, on the couch.  He scrubs at his face sleepily, squinting one eye.  “What are you doing awake?”

Killua scrambles for an excuse.  “I—just got some water.  I was thirsty,” they say in the most normal, sleepy tone they can muster.

“But… where’s your…” Gon mutters, frowning at the lack of a glass anywhere near Killua.  They panic for a second, considering flashstepping into the kitchen to grab one then gaslighting Gon about the water.  Then Gon says, “oh, nevermind,” flips a hand, and shuffles over to the couch.  Killua releases their breath.

Gon flops down on the couch next to Killua, still clearly half asleep, and tips his head back.  

“‘S brighter in here than I thought,” he mumbles to himself, watching another set of headlights rove across the ceiling.  Killua breathes slowly and steadily, watching Gon drift back into unconsciousness.  His eyes unfocus and flicker.  The motion of his fluttering eyelids transfixes Killua.  

Killua’s heart calms and it’s like they can almost feel their brain slipping into theta waves.  

Gon droops to the side, shoulder and head brushing Killua.  

Another beam of headlights swoops slowly across the ceiling, dulled by Killua’s closing eyelashes.

 **  
** Gon sighs; Killua slumps into the couch and sleepy darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Because the content of some chapters might be upsetting or triggering to some people (see Content Warnings at the beginning of each chapter) I'll summarize the events at the bottom so all you have to do is click the "more notes" link to read a more neutral summary of events._
> 
> Killua suffers from a vivid sleep paralysis hallucination that triggers an intense episode of post-traumatic stress disorder flashbacks, leaving them ragged and on-edge the next day. Gon, trying to find something to entertain Killua with, decides to treat them to a movie and invites Kurapika and Leorio along. The entire time, Killua is wary of Leorio due to their previous nightmares, and sitting in a dark movie theater with strangers does nothing to help their PTSD-driven anxiety. The only thing that distracts them, amusingly enough, is an unintentional lesson in emotions when they inadvertently interrupt Leorio and Kurapika's sloppy movie makeouts, leaving Gon to awkwardly explain to them what happens when two people love each other very much and think nobody else is looking.
> 
> That night, Killua lies awake for a long time, unable to sleep from paranoia, and tries to wrap their head around what _love_ means. Their midnight musings are cut short when Gon sleepily goes to get a glass of water and finds Killua wide awake. Concerned for his soldier friend, Gon sits with them on the couch for a while before drifting back to sleep on Killua's shoulder. Killua finds Gon's presence calms them enough to relax enough to close their eyes for a bit and let sleep happen.
> 
> _Yes, in this chapter I did try to be funny. Sort of. See if you can find the references that give me away as a filthy, filthy Homestuck._


	6. What Does Love Feel Like?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killua and Gon have a few domestic moments in the days leading up to Killua's appointment with Melody, Killua begins to question love, but then suffers from a debilitating flashback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, one year later. I haven't abandoned this fic! I have been swamped by school and internships and trying to find a new beta reader. I won't make any promises about how frequently Defib will be updated from here on out, but I can say it will not be a whole year before the next chapter. Thanks so much for sticking with me and this story!
> 
> **Content Warnings for this Chapter: brief use of "it" pronouns to describe Killua, PTSD flashbacks, explicit and implied medical abuse. If this is upsetting or triggering to you, consider skipping this fic/chapter or clicking "more notes" for a summary of this chapter.**

Upon reaching 0, Killua resets their mental “seconds of calming the fuck down” countdown to 100.  Staring at Gon’s back as he paces up and down the aisle in the cavernous, brightly-lit hardware store, Killua counts on silently.  Gon’s got a paint chip in one hand and a sheaf of printed-out pictures of bedrooms in the other, neck craned up to look at light fixtures and cabinetry that would match the selected style and color.

“What do you think about this one, Killua?” he asks, gesturing up at some white cottage style cabinets with the paint chip.  Killua rubs their arm and huffs a sigh.

“It’s fine, better than standard issue.”

“That’s what you said about the last four I picked out, too!” Gon almost complains.  Killua offers a one-shouldered shrug.  They really and truly don’t have a strong preference as to what sort of cabinets Gon gets to put in “their bedroom.”  This whole trip--the meaning of the trip--makes Killua uncomfortable in an alien, embarrassed sort of way.  They really can’t pin it down but it makes them somewhat uneasy.

“It’s your apartment, get what you like,” Killua says neutrally.  Gon’s face falls into a completely unamused expression.  “White would look good though…?” they add, and Gon relaxes his stern expression.

“I like this one the best,” he declares more to himself than to Killua, crossing his arms and nodding at the cabinet display above him.  “It goes with that lamp over there…”

 

An abhorrent amount of money later (which Gon shrugged off, flippantly stating he wanted to redo the office anyways), the two load everything into Leorio’s car, borrowed for today, and make the half-hour drive back to Gon’s apartment.  It takes them almost an hour to get everything up to the fourth floor and by that point, Gon’s stomach is growling loudly.

“Lunch?” he asks Killua, who shrugs and nods.  

 

Over sandwiches at a nearby café, Gon chatters away at Killua, seemingly oblivious to Killua’s lack of response.  As he finishes the last bite of his sandwich and gulps some of his soda, he brings it up:

“You’re being really quiet today, Killua.”

Killua looks up, somewhat startled at being addressed directly.  They shrug apologetically.

“Is something on your mind?” Gon persists.  Killua shrugs again, and Gon’s face starts to take on a stormy quality.

“Not really.  It’s not something to concern yourself over,” Killua answers in a clipped tone, shoving more sandwich than strictly necessary into their mouth to avoid a more thorough explanation.  Gon still looks a little put off, so Killua casts their gaze around to look at anything than the annoyed, disappointed Gon.  They settle on watching a few pigeons in the street.

“Killua,” Gon sighs, and Killua has to fight to keep their eyes on the pigeons-- _why does the way he say my name have such a magnetic quality_ \-- “you know you can tell me anything, right?  I want to know if something’s upsetting you so that I can help.  You’re my friend and I care about you and that’s what friends do.”

Killua can’t fight to look away from him any more.  Their gaze fixes on Gon and now his face is open, honest, and wanting.  A warm blush rises to Killua’s cheeks with how intense Gon’s eyes are.

“I’m… not used to attention like… this,” Killua confesses haltingly.  Gon cocks his head.

“Like what?”

“Like _this,_ ” Killua gestures to the table, to Gon, back towards the apartment.  “I haven’t done anything for you and you’ve… rearranged your whole life for me.”

Gon opens his mouth to say something, to protest, to do whatever, but Killua doesn’t let him get a word out.

“I really appreciate it.  I don’t want to think about where I would be right now if… you hadn’t let me come home with you.  It’s just that this is very…” Killua takes a small bite to buy time to consider their words carefully, “foreign to me.  I don’t know how to react.  The closest thing I’ve ever encountered is when one of my soldiers field-stripped and cleaned both my weapons for me because he wanted to make me like him better.  He was an idiot most of the time.”

Gon smiles, but Killua still doesn’t let him cut in.

“The world I come from operates _quid pro quo_ .  I can’t help but worry you will expect me to repay you in kind.  I don’t know how I will do that.”  Killua knows they’re only telling Gon half of it, but they can’t bring themself to say the other half for fear of making Gon sad-- _nobody has ever truly cared about me before and I don’t know how to show I care too_.

Gon’s smile fades and the pair sits in silence for a few beats before Gon is absolutely sure Killua is done speaking.  

“Don’t worry about trying to repay me.  I’m doing this as a friend and I don’t need anything back.  If you ever do really, really want to give me something back though, wait until you’re able.  Don’t worry about it now or next week or even next year.  Hey, Killua,” Gon draws Killua’s wandering gaze back to him and stretches a hand across the table to rest his fingertips on the back of Killua’s hand.  “I mean it.”

 

“Gon, where do you want me to put this box?” Killua asks, holding an unwieldy and heavy box containing Gon’s desktop.  Gon looks up from packing case files into another box and considers the computer.

“Put it on the coffee table?”  Killua nods, and goes to deposit the box.  By the time they return, Gon has finished with one box of case files and still has another to go.

“Why do you save all these files?” Killua asks idly, running a finger over the spines of one-inch binders labeled by month and year.

“Oh, uh,” Gon rubs the back of his head, sitting back on his heels.  “I like to keep track of everybody I’ve found.  It makes me feel like I’m doing good.”

“Even the dead ones?” Killua looks up at Gon, gaze piercing, finger stilled on the binder marked “Deaths May/2011”.  Gon breathes deeply, face sinking into a solemn expression.  His eyes drop to his hands, cupped together on his knees, and Killua is struck by how repentful Gon’s pose is.  As if he’s praying for the dead he found.

“Even the dead ones,” he says quietly, bringing his eyes back up to meet Killua’s cool look.  “It’s closure.  For the family.  For friends.  For me.”

Killua swallows and lifts their finger from the slim blue binder.  “I’ll go put this with the others,” they say softly, carrying the box from the room.

 

As they’re setting the box next to the coffee table, though, they hear a loud _thud_ from the office, followed by a plaintive wail of “ _Killua-a-a-a-a…._ ”

Sighing, Killua returns to the office to find Gon has successfully toppled a stack of boxes over on himself, scattering papers and parts of the office chair everywhere.  He reaches up towards Killua with both hands, childlike, silently pleading with his eyes for help.  Killua feels a wry smile tug at the corners of their mouth and they grab Gon’s hands, pulling him up so hard they throw him up into the air a little.  Gon gives a startled yelp and windmills his arms.  Killua darts forward and steadies him.  Gon laughs, again childlike, and claps Killua on the shoulder.

Killua’s cheeks warm with an unfamiliar blush as they realize exactly _where_ their hands are on Gon’s body--his hard shoulder and slim waist--and they quickly pull their hands away, moving to put the parts of the office chair back in the box.  Gon, however, has other ideas and tips the chair’s box on its side, then starts kicking the parts into the box like it’s a game.  He looks over at Killua, grinning hugely, and passes one of the casters to Killua.  They look down at it rolling away from their right foot, somewhat confused.  What exactly are they supposed to do with it?

“C’mon, Killua, tell me you don’t know how to play football!” Gon crows, expertly kicking another caster straight into the box.  

“I don’t know how to play football,” Killua deadpans, bending to pick up the runaway component.  Gon pouts exaggeratedly and reaches to take it from them.

“It’s simple,” he says, dropping the caster on the floor in front of him, “you take a ball or whatever and you can only touch it with your feet and you kick it into the goal.  See?” he kicks the caster, but it narrowly misses the box and careens into the stack of boxes, making them wobble precariously.  Killua shoots him a warning look that says “ _don’t you dare knock all that down because I’m not picking it up if you do_.”  Gon grins sheepishly and rubs the back of his head.

“That’s how you play,” he says, fishing the caster out from behind a box with his foot.  Killua nods and experimentally nudges a knob with their toes, sending it rolling in slow circles.  They tap it a few more times, propelling it maybe three inches with each tap, and it’s not until they finally tap it into the box that they look up and find Gon has been watching them with a silly little amused smile the entire time.  Killua’s face warms with a blush again and they frown slightly, turning away to kick a cylinder into the box.  

 

In another half hour, the two have moved all the boxes out of the office and swept the room, so all that’s left is a bare, bright white room, window open to the noise of the city street below.  

"Ready to paint?" Gon asks, holding a mask out to Killua.  Two cans of paint, two trays, a roller, and a brush sit in the far corner near the window; the paint is the shade of dusky twilight blue Killua had expressed only a passing interest in (but that was still more interest than they had shown to any other paint color).  Killua takes the mask and snaps it over their nose and mouth, making Gon giggle before he puts his own mask on.

"So we're going to paint the two walls on the end--" Gon points to the shorter walls to the left and to the right-- "the darker blue.  The walls on the side are gonna be the lighter blue.  That way it won't look like a cave."  His voice sounds funny, muffled, under the mask.  Killua nods.  Their eyes catch movement--Gon's pulling a roll of blue tape out of one of the pockets of his cargo shorts-- and they neatly catch the tossed roll on their right index finger, spinning it around, grinning under their mask.  They can tell by the crinkle around Gon's eyes he's grinning too.

"Tape the edges so it's neat," Gon instructs, marching over to the paint to pop the lids and mix the colors.  Killua meticulously tapes the two short walls, bringing new meaning to the term "military precision" and Gon can't help but whistle long and low, impressed.  He gives Killua an appreciative nod, which they return.  Then Gon attacks the wall with the roller.

 

Killua's painting around the edges of each wall carefully with a brush when they feel a splatter of something wet hit their neck, just under their left ear.  They turn slowly to see Gon rolling paint onto the wall with such enthusiasm he's sending droplets of paint flying everywhere, spattering the drop cloth they laid on the floor and the unpainted walls.  Killua narrows their eyes at his back and, calculatingly, raises their brush and runs a finger across the wet bristles so that a spray of paint goes flying towards the back of Gon's neck.  It takes him a second to realize what's happened and by the time he does and turns to Killua, they're already working on their half of the wall again, pretending nothing happened.

"Oho," Gon says, and Killua looks up, their face an innocent question.  Gon mercilessly splatters a string of blue paint across the bridge of their nose.  A devilish smile splits Killua's face and they leap up, whipping their brush at Gon's face and weaponizing the splatter.  Gon starts laughing and Killua feels their chest swell like a helium balloon.  They dance under a jab from Gon's long-handled roller and fling themself towards the paint bucket as Gon whips the roller around for a second attack.  Killua plunges their brush into the dusky paint and flings a fat, rich arc of it at Gon.  It catches him satisfyingly across the shoulder and drips off his arm onto the floor.  He laughs, full-bodied, and Killua finds the action so mesmerizing they're blindsided by the roller squishing wetly onto their right cheek.

The chemical tang of the VOCs in the paint hits Killua at the same time as a prickly lurch of anger in their chest, popping the helium balloon.  How could they have lost situational awareness like that _yet again_?  Gon’s laugh fades.  Killua angrily jams their paintbrush into the paint, wipes off the excess, and returns to painting the edges of the wall.

“Killua?” Gon asks, lowering his roller.  “What’s wrong?”

“We’re wasting time and paint playing around.  We have to get back to work,” they respond curtly and Gon does so, even though Killua can see the pensive almost-grimace on his face out of the corner of their eye.  They deflate with a sigh, feeling that numb sadness again that, at this point, they’re resigned to.

 

XXX

 

" _Wa-a-a-ah,_ that stinks!" Gon cries, sticking his head out the window.  Killua watches impassively.  The room does smell strongly of paint fumes, so much so it's starting to hurt their sinuses a little, but they don't react to it.  Gon, however, is more unbridled in his reactions.

"I moved a fan out of here earlier; I could bring it back in and we could air the room out," Killua offers.  Gon looks over his shoulder at them, expression brightening.  

"Great idea, Killua!"

They go set the fan up and Gon trots from the room, stripping his mask off.

"I'm glad we got all the painting done today," he says as Killua trails him into the kitchen.  As he starts taking pots and ingredients out and lining them up on the counter, he turns to Killua. "Do you want to help me make dinner?  It's gonna be baked fish.  It's my favorite; my aunt Mito used to make it for me when I was little."

Killua nods and starts in at the tasks Gon sets them as best they can.  At first, Gon tells them to chop the celery and Killua makes a valiant effort--they go and find a kitchen knife, take the celery, and attack it with the knife.  When Gon looks over at them, his eyes go shocked-wide and he rushes over, grabbing Killua’s hands, stilling them with his own big, warm ones.

“That’s not how you do it,” he says.  “Do you know how to chop vegetables?”

Killua shakes their head reluctantly.  Gon probably thinks they’re incompetent.  He sighs through his nose-- _derision or amusement?_ \--and takes Killua’s knife.  He tosses it in the sink and selects a bigger, flatter wedge-shaped knife and hands it carefully to Killua.  He places a cutting board beneath the celery and demonstrates proper celery-chopping technique to Killua, who nods along.

It takes the two a good hour to prep the fish dish for baking mostly because Gon has to show Killua how to do everything.  Every time Gon comes near to demonstrate or correct Killua, their heart rate boosts just ever so slightly.  Distantly, Killua watches the fish bake, concentrating on trying to put a name to the things they are feeling.  Anxiety?  Excitement?  Anticipation?  Worry?  It’s so close to all those things, but not so negative.  It’s not love or pleasure, but maybe it is.  What would love feel like in practice?

Dinner is quiet, save the clinking of forks against plates--just like any other meal at the apartment, Killua doesn’t make much conversation.  They’re still getting the hang of it.  Tonight, though, they’re chasing thoughts around in their head, trying to translate emotion into question.  As they parse out the syntax, they purse their lips and lay down their fork.

“Gon,” Killua begins, eyes fixed on the glass of water just beyond their plate, “what does love feel like?”

Gon makes a rather choked-sounding noise, grabbing his water quickly.  “Why?” he fires back, not unkindly.  “Are you thinking about Kurapika and Leorio making out again?”

“Somewhat,” Killua says curtly.  Why won’t Gon just answer their question?  Why does it always take this barrage of counter-questioning with this boy?

“Jeez Killua,” Gon rubs the back of his head in contemplation.  “I guess it feels different for everyone.”

“How do you experience it?”

“ _Jeez_ , Killua!”  Gon repeats emphatically, bordering on distress.  “You don’t just ask something like that!”

Killua averts their gaze further, turning their head away from Gon to look out the window at the other end of the table.  A chill sweeps through their hollow chest and they stuff fish in their mouth hurriedly for lack of something better to do.  Gon sighs.  Killua returns their head to center, daring to glance at Gon.  He doesn’t look upset or aggravated.  A modicum of tension drains out of them and they take a less hurried bite of fish.  It’s really quite good.  Everything Gon makes is miles better than mess hall food.

“I haven’t been in romantic love before, but I love my Aunt Mito and I love my friends,” Gon says.  “Not all love has to be romantic or sexual.  It can be familial or platonic, and they’re all equally valid.  A lot of people think only romantic and sexual love is ‘real,’ but that’s not true.  Saying so really devalues a lot of people who maybe only experience familial or platonic love and devalues people who haven’t experienced it yet.

“Oh…” Gon looks suddenly sheepish.  “Sorry about the rant.  Love to me feels like comfort and safety.  When I love someone, I feel relaxed and happy around them and it makes me want to be with them all the time.  I guess romantically I’d feel the same way.  If you’re really interested, there’s a ton of romance books where they talk about love all the time.”

Killua considers this.  “Where would I find one?”

“Library,” Gon grunts around a huge bite of fish.  Killua nods sagely, feigning more understanding than they actually have.  Gon swallows, “or online.  Just search for it, you’ll get a million results.”

The weight of Killua’s phone in their pocket suddenly seems warm with new possibility.

 

Twelve articles.  Twelve articles aimed at women, telling women how to feel about love, in love.  Killua is not a woman.  There is not an article they can find that tells men how to feel, but it would be moot anyways as they are not a man either.  They don’t care much for gender, but the civilian world is so infuriatingly gendered it’s inescapable, forcing them to come down on one side or the other or--like Kurapika--tether themself to the academic language and ideology of gender transgression in order to avoid gender.

Even so, the articles all described a fairly uniform feeling unlike Gon’s description.  “Butterflies” came up frequently, as did “crush.”  There are stages to love, a formula to be followed.  The “crush” brings the “butterflies” (which Killua assumes feel similar to electric sensations, but gentler), which can progress into lust (Killua interpreted this as spontaneous, constant sexual arousal), and then into the companionate love that seemed a bad thing.  The articles indicated lust was the peak of the love timeline, and companionate love was “bed death.”

Killua flexes their electricity slightly to deactivate their phone screen, resting it on their lap face-down.  They snap their electricity out in a long arc like a whip, raising their hands apart to shoulder width to watch it bridge, reveling in the blue light and ozone scent and sharp crackling.  What was once pain has now become comfort.  Footsteps behind them vanishes their electric play and Gon enters the room, sniffing slightly.

“Smell that?” he asks.  Killua inclines their head slightly but refuses comment.  Gon shrugs.  “Tomorrow is your appointment with Melody.  Have you talked with Kurapika?”

Killua shakes their head.  “I have their number.”

“Alright.  After I get home from work tomorrow, you’re going to help me unpack your furniture, right?” Gon asks excitedly.

“Yeah,” Killua replies, a faint smile on their lips.

 

XXX

 

Killua lies awake on the couch for a long while before the sun rises.  It drips in slowly between the slats of the blinds, warm and amber-gold like honey, like Gon’s eyes.  They turn away from the light, pressing their face into the back of the couch, and count the seconds until they feel the liquid warmth of the light soak their back.  Gon’s heart is calm in the other room.  Killua syncs their breathing with Gon’s, slowly sighing into the gathered paisley fabric between the cushions.  The longer their face is pressed into the crack, the harder it becomes to breathe.

Panic seizes them violently out of nowhere and Killua locks up, frantically trying to free themself from the smothering position they’re in.  Their muscles won’t respond.  The sunlight is beyond dripping, it’s pouring onto them and they’re _drowning--_

 

_“Look here, we installed auxiliary ‘gills’ that work on land only.  It’s a very new feature we just perfected on mammalian subjects.  If its head is ever submerged or smothered, it will still be able to breathe.  We wired the gills into its central nervous system so they will open reflexively as the drowning reflex kicks in.  It does override voluntary muscle movements, unfortunately--that’s a kink we couldn’t solve--but that side effect goes away when normal breathing is restored.”_

_Killua stares stoically ahead, eyes very staunchly looking away from the tub of water on its right.  The gill tests have been horrible, panic-inducing.  This demonstration in front of decorated commanding officers won’t be any better.  It will be worse.  Humiliating.  There are some men in here Killua itself commands, and they’re about to watch its bodily autonomy and authority be violated to show off an artificially implanted reflex.  Killua can’t say no to its engineers though._

_Two assistants step forward and strip Killua of its shirt, every single scar on display.  Scars Killua isn’t even sure how it got--likely from procedures performed on it without its knowledge--and scars Killua abhors.  There’s a gasp in the back of the audience.  Killua swallows its fear and dignity, scraping together what little is left to straighten its spine in the face of utterly degrading treatment._

_“Captain Zoldyck, move your arms up and down,” commands the head engineer, the pilot of this particular addition.  Killua raises and lowers its arms mechanically like a bird.  The engineer grabs the back straps of the harness running across the front of Killua’s shoulders and chest savagely, wrenching it across the display stage to the vat.  Killua flaps its arms dutifully._

_The engineer trips Killua so it falls face-first into water so cold it burns.  It nearly screams, its hands reflexively sharpening into blades that pierce the metal of the vat with surrogate shrieks.  Through the water, it can hear the engineer telling it to exhale.  If it doesn’t breathe out, it can hold its breath for several minutes, and the organic engineers want the demonstration to be brief._

_The air that leaves Killua’s lungs takes its warmth with it too, and a chill shudders through the captain’s body.  The engineer kicks its left ankle, telling it to flap its arms again.  Robotically, Killua does as told, its lungs burning from lack of air.  Its head is spinning and panic is starting to rise like dark dynamite powder from the bottom of the tank, clouding everything.  Just when Killua can’t hold out any longer, its land gills pry themselves sluggishly open like mouths gummy and glued shut after long sleep.  Its body goes limp and unresponsive._

_The dynamite ignites and full-blown panic races through the captain’s body.  Every muscle goes rigid at once, seizing violently.  Killua can hear noises of concern from the engineer’s assistants.  It’s powerless to stop this seizure and this panic attack.  It’s hyperventilating through its barely-sufficient gills, lightheaded, in serious danger of passing out._

_Finally, the engineer wrenches Killua up out of the water and it screams, gasping frantically, the sound ripping through the air like its electricity out of control, body writhing violently with the aftershocks of the seizure.  The assembled officers cover their ears and avert their eyes as Killua turns on the engineer still holding its harness.  Enraged, panicked, nearly drowned, Killua channels its fury into its bladed fingers and--_

 

“Killua!  Killua!!”

Killua becomes aware of Gon holding their wrists, sitting on top of them, shouting their name, on the verge of tears.  Killua breathes harshly, eyes darting frantically to piece together what just happened.

“Killua,” Gon says softer, turning his head to wipe his eye on his shoulder.  Crying.  “What happened?”

Killua sucks in a ragged breath, pressure building in their chest, heat prickling behind their eyes, keens involuntarily as tears force their way out of their eyes.  They haven’t cried since they were four years old.  Humiliation, both left over from the flashback and fresh, drives itself like a stake into their heart and they sob helplessly.  They close their eyes so they don’t have to see Gon cry too.

The Hunter lies down on Killua, wrapping them in a bear hug, and tangles his fingers in their hair, pressing their ear to his chest.  “I’m so sorry, so sorry,” he breathes.

 

Killua just cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Because the content of some chapters might be upsetting or triggering to some people (see Content Warnings at the beginning of each chapter) I'll summarize the events at the bottom so all you have to do is click the "more notes" link to read a more neutral summary of events._
> 
> Killua and Gon go shopping for proper furnishings as Gon has decided to remake his office into Killua's bedroom, implicitly telling Killua he cares about them in the long-term. Over lunch, Gon explicitly and verbally affirms that he wants Killua to stay and doesn't expect Killua to pay him back. Killua begins to wonder about the definition of love.
> 
> The two paint the room, have a paint fight, pack and move boxes to storage, and make dinner together. Killua asks Gon how he experiences love, startling Gon. After the surprisingly intimate conversation, Killua gets ready for their appointment with Kurapika's therapist Melody the next day.
> 
> In the early hours of the morning, however, Killua has a flashback so severe it causes a seizure. When they come to, Gon is there comforting them. Then, in a rare show of vulnerability, Killua cries.


End file.
